The Way Curses Are Broken
by Snapegirlkmf
Summary: What if Bae had gotten captured by Pan as the Pied Piper before Rumple could rescue him? What will both father and son risk to be reunited again? Can such evil be defeated? Can curses old and new be broken by the power of a loving heart? Eventual Rumbelle too!
1. Bae's Rebellion

**The Way Curses Are Broken**

**A Once fanfic**

**By Snapegirlkmf**

**A/N: based off of some of episode 3:4 Nasty Habits, but with my own twists and tweaks. What if Bae had gotten captured by Pan as the Pied Piper before Rumple could rescue him? What will both father and son risk to be reunited again? Can such evil be defeated? Can curses old and new be broken by the power of a loving heart?**

**I do not own OUAT, regretfully. Note: in this story Bae is younger than 14 when called to fight, and Rumple's reason for becoming the Dark One is similar yet different. Enjoy!**

**1**

**Bae's Rebellion**

"_Either you kill me, or I kill your son."_

Those words, spoken in a rasping vicious voice more than three months ago, haunted Bae's sleep most nights. He could never forget that horrible day, right after the duke's men, led by some pompous bully name Hodor, had come knocking on the door of his cottage and told him he was drafted to fight in the ongoing conflict between men and ogres on the Southern Border of the Enchanted Forest.

"You're crazy!" he'd cried. "I'm twelve. I'm not old enough to fight. I don't even know how to swing a sword." _Twelve going on thirteen._ He had a birthday coming up in four months.

"You'll come with us tomorrow, boy. It don't matter how old ye are, ye're coming. The duke orders it!" Hodor said.

"Screw that!" Bae spat, he'd always had a sassy tongue on him when he got angry, and today was no exception. "I'm not going anywhere except to market with my father to sell our thread. I'm a spinner, not a soldier."

"Ye're a sassy whelp that needs some manners beaten into him!" Hodor snarled, raising his hand and trying to cuff Bae on the head.

Trying because Bae wasn't minded to let him. Only one man had the right to lay a hand on him, and that was his papa, Rumplestiltskin. Something Rumple hardly ever did, despite his son's smart mouth. People sneered at him for it, saying he let his son run wild, but Bae knew that wasn't so. His papa simply had different methods of punishment, a fact that his son thanked the gods for, or else he'd have been beaten black and blue long ago.

Bae ducked the other's cuff and drew back, leaning on the sturdy door of the cottage and slamming it shut right in Hodor's nasty red face. He quickly drew the bar down and locked it.

"Let me in, boy! This isn't over!" Hodor pounded the door.

"Up yours!" Bae spat and gave the door the finger, something he could do because his father wasn't there to see it.

After a few more minutes of pounding, Hodor rode off, cursing the brat to the seventh hell.

Tomorrow would be a different story, he vowed. He'd haul the brat off to boot camp and teach the little imp respect for his betters with his blacksnake whip if it killed him. No son of a cowardly crippled spinner was going to backtalk him like that!

Inside the little cottage, Bae lit the lamps, as it was growing on to dusk, and set the table, giving the pot of pea soup with bacon a final stir and making sure the bread warming in the wall oven didn't burn to a crisp, like it had last time he'd tried to warm it. It was just him and his papa, had been since he was four and his slut of a mother had run off to chase dreams and a pirate. Bae could hardly remember her, and wouldn't give her the time of day if he passed her on the street.

Everything he needed, his papa had given to him, and though they were always scraping by, Baelfire never felt that he lacked anything. Well, materially, but in terms of love and affection, never. He loved his father with a fierce adoration, despite the claims of cowardice, and had cheerfully bloodied the nose of many a boy who dared sneer at his father.

He just had set spoons beside their wooden bowls when the door opened and Rumple walked in. "Bae, I'm home!" he called, setting his cloak on the wooden peg beside the door. "I sold all my thread and we've got enough money to pay the rent on the first of next month and some extra to put aside for a rainy day too. And Widow Harkens gave me a peach cobbler for my songbird yellow thread too."

"That's great, Papa," his son said, mustering up a smile. Rumple usually made good deals at the market for his wonderful thread, and he'd taught his son everything he knew about spinning and weaving.

Rumple came to set the cobbler on the table and noted the sudden shadow that flitted over his son's expressive face. "Something wrong, Bae?"

The boy heaved a sigh. "Papa, I've got something to tell you, and you aren't going to like it."

Rumple looked at him sternly. "Baelfire, what have you gotten yourself into now?"

"Papa, it's not something I did," Bae protested. Then he told him about Hodor.

Rumple was horrified. "Son, you cannot fight in this war! Fighting's for grown men, not children, and you're not a man yet. It's . . . it's insane that the duke expects mere children to fight monsters."

"I know, Papa. I told Hodor he was crazy, but he said he'd be back for me tomorrow," Bae said.

"No! They cannot take you away!" the spinner cried. "You're all I have. Without you . . . I would surely shrivel up and become dust."

"Nobody's taking me anywhere, Papa," Bae said quickly, seeing the panic in his father's dark brown eyes.

"But what can we do? I cannot protect you . . . not like this," he gestured uselessly at his crippled leg, bitterness etching his expressive face, much like his son's. Frantic to try and protect the only family he had left in the world, the only person who loved him and he loved in return, Rumple said, "Maybe . . . maybe you can hide away in the hills for a bit. You know, in the cave we found."

"For how long, Papa? I can't hide there forever, and they'll be watching the cottage, waiting for you to betray me and then they'll have me," Bae pointed out. "It's not safe here for us anymore. So we should leave."

"And go where?"

"Anywhere's better than here," Bae persuaded. His father was a homebody, and disliked traveling, but they had no choice. Bae couldn't wait to shake the dust of this place from his boots. "We can find another village, in another kingdom, and get a fresh start."

"Okay. Pack your things. We'll leave tonight, late, before anyone thinks to look for us," Rumple decided. "But first let's eat, no sense letting good food go to waste."

That night found them packed and on the road, and still traveling the next morning. Despite his crippled leg, Rumple could move pretty quickly when he needed to, and nothing mattered more to him than getting away from those who would steal his son from him in a war that showed no signs of ending.

They took the road leading out of the Enchanted Forest, towards the neighboring kingdom of Starkkhard, ruled by the powerful warlord Gervaise. Gervaise had terrorized all his neighbors because he controlled the might of the powerful sorcerer called the Dark One. Not even the duke dared to cross him.

Rumple prayed they could put enough distance between their village in a day to enable them to double back and seek a back way out of the forest, for there was no way he wanted to end up in Gervaise's kingdom.

Around midday, satisfied that no pursuit was forthcoming, Rumple and Bae decided to make camp in a small culvert beside the road and rest for a few hours.

They both rolled themselves in their cloaks after eating a quick meal of bread and cheese and spring water, falling asleep soon afterwards.

Bae shuddered as he recalled what had happened next.

"_Either you kill me, or I kill your son."_

Bae had woken feeling that there was something wrong, and when he opened his eyes, he found the tip of a very sharp dagger pressed against his throat. "Hey! What—"

"Do as I say, boy, or else!" a raspy voice hissed in his ear. "Wake your father there."

Bae gulped hard, figuring they were about to be robbed by brigands . . . at least that's all he hoped they would do to him and Rumple. So he obeyed, calling out to Rumple.

"Bae?" Rumple said sleepily. "What is it?" He sat up, and gasped when he saw what was going on.

An elderly man had a dagger to his son's throat.

"Please, don't hurt my son," Rumple cried. "I'll give you whatever we have, just don't hurt my boy." He went to fumble in their packs for the little money they had.

"I don't want money," rasped the man, he looked frail, but his grip on Baelfire belied his looks. He wore a dark cape and a robe, almost like a monk.

"Then what do you want?" Rumple asked desperately.

"One thing and one thing only."

"What is it? Let my son go and I'll do whatever you want."

The old man smiled, a cold grimace of satisfaction. "Will you now, coward?"

"Yes! Please! Just don't hurt my son."

"My papa's not a coward!" Bae snarled, the old defense springing off his lips, despite his own peril. "You are, for threatening unarmed people!"

"Silence!" snarled the man. Then he turned his gaze to Rumple again. "I want you to kill me . . . with the dagger at my belt."

"What?" Rumple stared at the other man. Surely he was mad, to make such a request? Mad as a dog with foaming mouth sickness.

"You heard me. Either you kill me or I kill your son." He pressed the dagger harder against Bae's throat and the boy whimpered as the sharpened steel cut into his tender skin.

"Papa, don't!" Bae cried, sensing there was some trick, some trap, in this request.

"I have to!" Rumple insisted, though his very soul cringed at doing harm to anyone, for any reason.

"Come on, coward! Do it!" taunted the old man. "For once in your life, do the brave thing!"

"How is killing you in cold blood brave?" Rumple wondered.

"Just do it! Or your precious boy is food for the worms!"

His hands shaking, Rumple picked up the dagger at the man's belt. It was a long knife, wavy, made of a strange sort of black metal, with the word _Zoso_ carved on it in silver letters. "Let my boy go and I'll do it," he bargained.

"Do I have your word?"

Bae shook his head slightly. This was wrong. He could feel it. This crazy man was using them . . . for what purpose he didn't know, and didn't care, but there was something terribly wrong going on here. "Papa . . .no . . ."

Rumple gazed into Bae's eyes, and whispered again, "I have to, Bae!" He swallowed hard. "You've got a deal. Let him go."

The old man shoved Baelfire hard, knocking him off to one side. Then he tore his robe open and said in a soft challenging voice, "Do it!"

"Why?" Rumple queried as he raised the dagger.

"Never mind why! Just keep to your bargain, spinner!"

"And if I don't?"

"The cut I gave him is poisoned. He'll die in fifteen minutes," the old man cackled. "Unless you keep to your agreement! Strike! Once I'm dead, the poison will disappear! But only then! Kill me!"

And then Rumplestiltskin committed the most desperate act of his life, because he would do whatever he had to in order to save his child.

He stabbed the crazy old man in the heart with his own dagger . . . and in so doing took the curse of the Dark One upon himself, all unwitting.

That had been three months ago, and since then Bae had watched his father, the gentle spinner and decent man he adored, become someone he didn't know, a stranger wearing a facsimile of Rumple's face, transformed by the curse of the Dark One into a monster with glittering gold skin, ebony nails, and reptilian eyes.

The physical changes were bad enough, but the way Rumple's personality had shifted was the worst. Bae had always counted on his father to be calm and collected, to seek reasonable solutions to problems before violence, to be thoughtful and considerate of others feelings even when they were indifferent or nasty to him. Some might have termed that cowardice, but Bae knew better. His father was no coward, simply a gentle man who empathized with others.

It was Bae who had his mother's quicksilver temper, and her sharp tongue, though to be fair, he only mouthed off to those who slighted his father, or who attempted to cheat them on market day.

But since taking on the Dark One's awful mantle, a thing which Bae knew he was partially responsible for, Rumple had become like a man possessed. He was quick to lash out, full of anger, uncaring about anyone's feelings, quick to use his magic to hurt people.

Bae was horrified at how his father had changed, the way the curse had overtaken him, making the spinner into a beast he hardly recognized. The only thing that remained the same was Rumple's love for his son.

Or so Bae had thought at first. But gradually, as time passed, he began to see that too, had been altered. Always before, there had been an easy camaraderie between them, a playfulness, demonstrated in affectionate gestures and banter. Now, Rumplestiltskin spent most of his time away from the drafty abandoned keep they called home, going out to make deals with hapless folk, driven to do so by the dagger's need to dominate and the dark magic's need to feed off the despair of mortals.

And when he was home, he seemed obsessed with gathering things, pretty baubles, and ancient magical objects, which was not like the father Bae knew at all. He also seemed determined to keep Baelfire indoors all the time, only letting him go as far as the front gate of the keep, and never beyond it.

It was starting to drive the normally active boy crazy. He felt like a prisoner in his own home, such as it was.

The last straw for him came on a windy day in mid-March. Bae was drawing on the worn table in the keep's main room, after reorganizing a storage room on the second floor, throwing out all the junk collected in it over years, and sweeping the floor, since his father had wanted a room where he could brew potions.

He was sketching on a piece of parchment with a stub of charcoal, since his quill had broken and he hadn't wanted to ask Rumple to get a new one. These days, any request made of the Dark One usually involved a price that the petitioner had to be desperate to pay. He had never demanded a price of Baelfire, not yet anyway, but Bae was taking no chances. Besides, he could draw as well with charcoal as with ink.

He sketched, letting his longing for his lost father to spill over onto the parchment, drawing a picture of Rumple as he had known him before the curse. He then began to draw himself beside his father, the way it had been, when Rumple was just a simple country spinner, and a loving father, instead of this coldhearted possessive beast.

He had just finished putting the finishing touches on the sketch, which had him smiling up at Rumple, and signed his name at the bottom, when the door opened and his papa entered.

"Bae, I've brought you a gift," the Dark One announced. "A new penknife. See, it has a handle of real dragonbone, it's made of mithril, one of the hardest metals known to man." He laid a fine knife down on the table beside the picture Bae had just finished.

Bae looked up. "That's nice, Papa. But I don't need a new knife, my old one's good enough."

Rumple looked hurt at his son's rejection of his present. "This one is much finer. I made a deal with a merchant for it."

"Then you keep it," Bae said quickly. He set his charcoal down on the table and waited for his father to notice his drawing. The old Rumplestiltskin would have spotted the sketch in a heartbeat and been delighted with his son's artistic talent.

But the Dark One barely glanced at the parchment, instead frowning at the boy and saying, "Then what do you want, Bae? What's wrong with you, son?"

Bae stared up Rumple. "What's wrong with me? I should be asking you that question, Papa. What's wrong with _you_?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're not the same man you always were. This curse . . . it's changed you. Made you hard and cold. Can't you see that?"

Rumplestiltskin blinked. There were times that he felt . . . lost . . . alone . . . prey to insidious whispers from deep within his subconscious . . . but then he would use his magic and the lonely lost feeling would go away, eclipsed by the rush of power the dark magic always gave him. "I . . . I only want to make you happy, Bae. Tell me what you want, and I'll get it for you."

"I want my father back!" Bae snapped, frustration welling within him.

"I'm right here, son."

"No, you're not! The Dark One is! That's not my papa! Every time you leave here and use your magic, you become someone I don't know . . . someone dark and cold . . .and my papa was never like that."

"Bae . . . I know things are different now, but I'm trying to give you a better life now than we had before. I can conjure anything you desire, my magic makes me strong. No one laughs at me now, or points at me in the street, or throws mud at me."

"No, they run away from you and make the sign to ward off evil," Bae pointed out. "How is that better, Papa?"

His son's words caused him no small amount of anguish, because he knew that Bae was right . . . there was something very wrong with him, but he didn't know how to fix it, and the only thing that seemed to make him feel anything these days was using the magic the dagger had given him. "Bae," he tried again to get his son to talk with him, the way they used to. "Tell me what you want and I'll get it for you."

"I want to have a normal life . . . like other boys my age. Since we've come here, you haven't let me out of the castle. I don't have any friends . . . can't even make any here, shut away like this," Bae blurted, his misery finally finding its voice.

"Son, you have to stay here. I have enemies, they'd love to get their hands on you. I just want you to be safe," Rumple began.

"You wouldn't _have_ enemies, Papa, if you would just leave people alone and go back to being nice to people," Bae snapped. "And I'm not a baby, you don't need to wrap me up in cotton wool. What's the harm in me going down to the village and talking to people?"

"It's too dangerous. You don't know what you're asking," Rumple insisted, a sudden irrational fear growing within him. He feared that if Bae left the sanctuary of the castle, something would happen to him. And he could never let that happen.

"Yes, I do!" his son cried, his eyes turning stormy. "I'm asking for you to treat me like a kid instead of a prisoner."

"A prisoner? It's not like I'm locking you in your room. You have the whole castle to explore and the grounds too," Rumple argued.

"Oh,great! A drafty abandoned keep and miles of boring grass and trees, real wonderful. Just what I've dreamed of," Bae said sarcastically. "It's like paradise."

Rumple scowled, not liking his son's tone at all. "Hey! You watch your tone, young man. I'm your father, not one of your peers."

"Then maybe you ought to act like it!"

Rumple felt his temper, always close to the surface these days, start to surge up inside him. "Excuse me? Don't give me any of your sass, Baelfire! You're not too old to spank, mister."

"I'm almost thirteen, Papa," Bae cried, flinching slightly at the threat. He knew his tone was just this side of disrespect, and normally he would have never been so belligerent, but he was so sick of being stuck here, and all he wanted was a chance to see something outside this castle, talk to someone his own age. Was that so much to ask?

"Almost thirteen or not, you don't speak to me like that. I thought I taught you better," Rumple scolded.

"Fine! Then I'm done talking," Bae said rebelliously. He got up and stalked to the back door.

"Come back here!" Rumple yelled. "Baelfire! Where do you think you're going?"

"Out to get some air, it's like a tomb in here," he called over his shoulder, slamming the door behind him.

As he walked across the yard, he paused, waiting to see if his father would come after him. The old Rumple would have done so, would have come out to scold and lecture, and Bae knew he would have been in serious trouble for backtalking his papa that way. Angry as he was, Bae would have almost welcomed the lecture, would have taken whatever punishment Rumple meted out, because even that was better than this cold indifference.

He waited a minute, expecting to see Rumple come through the door, disappointment written all over his face, but the door remained shut.

His shoulders slumped. The shut door was an answer in itself. His papa didn't really care about him anymore.

He continued walking across the lawn, his heart heavy within him. He looked around at the windswept landscape and thought rebelliously that for once he wasn't going to do what was expected of him. For once he was going to do just as he damn well pleased, and if his papa didn't like it, too damn bad!

He jogged across the fallow field to the low stone wall that surrounded most of the empty pasture, and climbed over it easily.

Once on the other side, he gave a quick glance backward at the solitary keep of gray stone, standing like a lonely sentinel on the hill.

No Rumplestiltskin.

_I don't care! I'm going to have some fun for a change,_ Bae thought, swallowing the lump in his throat. He trotted through the bracken and down the path to the village, trying desperately to think about something other than the mess his relationship with his father had become. _I don't care! He can stay up there and molder away with his books and potions._ He blinked back tears, for they gave the lie to his defiant thoughts, proving they were but a sham.

Squaring his shoulders, he headed down the trail, tilting his head slightly.

Someone was playing music in the distance. Some kind of flute or pipes or something. He listened for a moment, then quickened his steps. The music was catchy, and where there was music, there were usually people. The jaunty tune filled the lonely spaces within his soul, and made him forget, just for awhile, his longing to have his papa back the way he was before the dagger's curse.


	2. The Piper's Revels

**2**

** The Piper's Revels**

When Bae ran out of the castle, Rumplestiltskin's first impulse was to go after his defiant son and shake some sense into his stubborn skull, or failing that, take a switch to the sassy brat's backside. His anger bubbled corrosively through him, and several items on the shelves in the room suddenly flew about and smashed into the wall, as his magic responded to his temper.

The shattering of several breakable items, like a china tea set and a glass seeing globe, sounded like miniature explosions in the room, almost like the grape shot from the cannons they'd shot at the ogres during his brief stint at the front.

They startled him, for since becoming cursed, he'd found that his senses were preternaturally sharpened, and he could hear, smell, see, and taste more keenly than he had when he was human. It was one of the few perks, besides being virtually immortal, that the dark magic had gifted him with. He glanced at the mess all over and gritted his teeth, then he restored what had been broken with a wave of a hand.

Again he considered going after his son, for he knew he shouldn't tolerate such backtalk, but his sudden flare of temper frightened him. He didn't want to risk harming his son inadvertently with his magic, and he had never punished Bae when he was angry, that was not his way.

He sucked in a breath. Then he counted silently to twenty in his head. _Calm down, Rumple. Control yourself._ _This is hardly the first time he's mouthed off to you, you know how to deal with it. _Slowly the infernal red rage began to dim. He glanced at the door, and decided he could confront the youngster later about his attitude. They both needed time to cool down.

Rumple started to go over to his wheel at the hearth, spinning always relaxed him, the motions long since learned by rote, accompanied by the whirring of the wheel soothed his ragged soul like nothing else.

His foot trod on a piece of parchment, he bent and picked it up. It was a charcoal sketch of . . . himself and Bae, and the Dark One found his heart suddenly throbbing with a fierce ache as he stared at it. _Ah, Bae. What the hell's happening to us? It was never like this before._

He sighed softly and tucked the sketch in a pocket of his tunic. Then he sat down at his wheel and began to spin, his fingers twisting and twirling the wool, his foot pumping the treadle with the ease of long practice. He had taught Bae how to spin as soon as the boy was tall enough to reach the treadle, and his son was quite good at it, would be better if he practiced more, the way Rumple had at his age. Spinning was one activity they shared, reading was another, as was making clothing.

He tried to recall the last time he'd seen Bae spin, or make something, like a scarf, to wear, and found he couldn't remember a single instance since coming to the Dark Castle. He felt a pang of guilt smite him. What had happened to the cheerful boy he'd once known? When had that boy turned into this defiant urchin?

Rumple didn't know, and to avoid thinking too much about it, began to spin faster, churning out thread like there was no tomorrow, though as the Dark One he had nothing but endless tomorrows to look forward to.

Meanwhile, Bae was running through the woods, following the haunting tune that swirled through the air, the notes so crystal clear and infectious that he could almost see them. Whoever was playing was a master musician, and the song Bae heard made his heart quicken and his pulse race. It spoke of carefree days spent wandering the woods, playing in sun dappled meadows, dancing to jaunty tunes.

Panting, Bae broke into a glade much like the one he'd imagined in his head, surrounded by venerable oaks, ash, and alders, sporting a thick patch of grass and in the center of it was a fire, crackling and leaping merrily among a circle of stones. Surrounding the fire were about six boys, from about twelve to fifteen, dressed in typical clothing of the village children, homespun tunics, breeches, cloaks, and boots. Some of them were rather thin, with raggedy hair, but they all appeared to be enjoying themselves, stomping their feet to the music, and toasting each other with wooden cups filled with something, or roasting small sausages over the fire until they were hot and crackling, the fat dripping into the flames and causing them to spit sparks.

Sitting on a fallen log off to the right of the fire was a hooded figure wearing a patchwork cloak of different colors, in a pattern Bae recognized as one called "pied". Only the tips of his brown leather boots and leggings could be seen, as well as his hands, slender like an aspen's, that played gracefully upon the set of polished silvery pipes.

The haunting skirling music set some of the lads to dancing a hornpipe about the fire, and others to giggling and dipping their cups into a small oaken barrel. One boy began a game of catch, and tossed a red leather ball back and forth to another boy.

Bae watched diffidently from the forest verge, longing to join the revels, but unsure if he would be welcome. He was, after all, a stranger and the son of the Dark One. But the smell of the sausages roasting set his stomach growling, as he had skipped lunch, intending to have some with his papa later on. He was also thirsty and whatever the boys were drinking made him salivate.

He might have stayed there watching for the rest of the afternoon, but suddenly, the piper looked up and said, "Come here, boy, and join us. There's always room for one more in my band."

Bae gave a hesitant smile and approached. "Thanks! Umm . . . you play those pipes really well. Are you a musician then?"

The Piper laughed. "Sometimes. They call me the Pied Piper, but my lads here call me Peter . . . and sometimes Pan, for these pan pipes I play." He indicated the silvery pipes.

Bae couldn't make out a face beneath the hood, but it was okay. The piper's voice sounded like a boy's, and Bae assumed he was probably the leader of these boys, perhaps a few years his senior, from the looks of his lanky frame. "I'm . . . uh . . . Bae," he told Peter. "I heard your music and I couldn't help but follow it."

"That's what I thought. So, join my celebration, Bae," the Piper gestured.

"What are you celebrating?"

"Why, our liberation, of course!" Peter laughed.

For some reason, his laugh, which was supposed to be merry, made Bae's skin prickle. It sounded hollow and cold, almost like the laugh his papa made as the Dark One when he was about to do something dreadful with his magic. An instant later though, Bae shrugged off the feeling. He must be imagining things. There was nothing evil in this gathering of boys, or the piper who played such mesmerizing tunes.

"Liberation?" Bae repeated.

"From adult authority," Peter smirked. "All of us here have taken a vow. No more listening to stupid grown-ups telling us what to do. We're free spirits here, no more hearing do your chores, eat your vegetables, there're kids starving in the Enchanted Forest. Let 'em starve! All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. But all play and no work makes you one of us! All of us are part of the brotherhood."

"The brotherhood?"

"The brotherhood of lost boys. We call ourselves that because some of us have lost our parents, and others have lost our need to obey whatever adults tell us. Here you can do what you like, when you like. Isn't it the greatest thing, lads?"

"Yeah!" they chorused. "The best!"

"Come and have something to drink and eat," Pan invited. "Felix! Give our newest brother some cider."

A tallish boy with a shock of white blond hair and a narrow face that reminded Bae of a ferret came up with a wooden cup and handed it to Bae. "Here. It's cider from my master's own press."

"Get him a sausage, Rolly," the Piper ordered.

Another boy approached with a stick upon which a sausage, hot and dripping with grease, was secured. "There are really good. They're from the butcher's stall. I work for him sometimes, and he'll never miss a few links. I'll just tell him some animal got 'em."

Bae took the sausage and bit into it. It was hot and juicy and spiced just enough to make his tongue tingle. He wondered if he ought to feel bad for eating what was clearly stolen goods, but then he decided he was too hungry to care, and besides, he hadn't stolen it.

It was so good, he had devoured most of it before he knew it. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he took a drink of cider.

He gasped as he swallowed, the back of his throat burning.

"What's wrong?" Peter queried, his eyes glinting oddly from the depths of his hood.

"This . . . is . . .applejack, not plain cider," Bae coughed, his eyes watering.

"Of course it is. Packs a bit of a kick, no?" Peter said. "It'd be no fun drinking the other kind, we can do that any old time."

Bae cautiously sipped the potent beverage, wincing as the hard cider slid down his throat. He had never drunk alcohol before, Rumple didn't allow it. His papa hardly ever touched the stuff either, saying such had been Milah's downfall and he'd not go down that road. A part of Bae, the sensible part, knew he shouldn't be drinking any of this stuff. Rumple would _not_ approve at all.

But as he started to lower the cup, he caught Peter's knowing scornful gaze. Baelfire flushed, for though the Piper never said a word, Bae knew if he didn't drink the cup, Peter would consider him a coward. The way people used to call his papa. Bae licked his lips and finished the rest of his sausage. Now he was thirsty, for the sausage was both spicy and salty.

He lifted the cup to his lips again and drained it, ignoring the sudden burn in the back of his throat. It was almost bearable this time.

"Good, isn't it?" Peter said.

"Yeah. Real good," Bae said, and wiped his mouth of the flecks of foam, like he'd seen the men in the tavern do while loitering outside the Pig and Whistle in his old village.

"Have another," the Piper urged.

"Uh . . ." Bae hesitated.

"Come on! Nobody's here, you can drink as much as you like. The others are," Pan indicated the other boys. "It's all good."

So Bae went and refilled his cup from the barrel, drinking another mouthful. This time he hardly noticed the slight sting.

He grabbed another sausage from a plate sitting on the grass and began to cook it over the fire.

Pan set his pipes to his lips again, and began to play a stirring martial air, making some of the boys line up and march in place with sticks in their hands, singing one of the rowdy soldier's tunes Bae had heard some of the veterans singing. "Here's to all the lovely ladies, each one prettier than the next, sweet and tall, buxom and hearty, all of 'em ready for a quick poke in the hay, aye!"

Bae once had gotten his mouth washed out by Rumple for singing that tune when he was younger, and hadn't really understood why, but now he was older and understood what the lyrics implied, and he felt himself flush. Lewd songs, applejack, and pilfered sausage. All things he'd been taught to never do.

Bae knew his papa would have had a fit if he saw what his son was up to. And part of him was ashamed . . . but the greater part of him was urging him to defy any and all of his father's dictates. After all, his papa didn't really care about him . . . so why should Bae care about what Rumple had taught him?

He drank another swallow of applejack and turned his sauage, tapping his foot in time to the music. This was a great secret revel . . . the most fun he'd had since coming to this land. And he was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.

Dusk had fallen across the land and shadows crept in on wary feet across the floorboards as Rumple spun. The sudden onset of evening had the Dark One pausing in his work. Had it grown that late already? Halting his wheel, Rumple rose, thinking it was time to get something on the table for supper.

"Bae!" he called, figuring the boy must have come back by now and hadn't announced the fact. He walked over to the stairs, and called up them, "Baelfire! Time to come down and tell me what you'd like for supper."

No response.

Shaking his head, Rumple climbed the stairs, wondering if the boy had fallen asleep. But Bae's room was empty.

He checked all of the rooms on the floor. No Baelfire.

Now frissons of panic began to eat through his outwardly calm demeanor. "Bae! You'd better not be somewhere sulking and ignoring me. Or else you can go to bed without supper, you hear?"

But the only sound in the castle was the sighing of the wind.

Rumple concentrated, sending his magic through the castle then, seeking his wayward son.

But his seeking found no trace of Baelfire anywhere indoors.

Now nearly in a full-blown panic, he rushed downstairs and out into the courtyard, searching for any sign of his son. "Baelfire!"

Suddenly, his eye was caught by movement in the far corner of the lawn, beside the low stone wall.

Rumple fixed his gaze on the spot, and his altered eyes revealed a familiar shape. Breathing a sigh of relief, he called, "Baelfire, where the hell have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you! You almost scared me half to death."

"M'fine, Papa," Bae drawled, sounding rather surly.

"Really, dearie?" Rumple half-snarled. "You'd better have a good explanation, young man."

Bae came up to him, wearing a half-sulky expression on his face, his gait oddly staggering. "I tol' you, Papa. I'm fine. I found some friends . . . we had . . . uh . . . a picnic."

Rumple's eyes narrowed. "That's all you have to say? That you were at a picnic? Who gave you permission to go on a picnic? I've been going insane looking for you and—" the Dark One paused in his scolding and sniffed sharply. The unmistakable tang of alcohol hit his nostrils. "What the—Baelfire, are you . . . _drunk_?"

"Nope," his son replied, grinning goofily. "Y' can't get drunk on jus' two cups of cider, don'tcha know that?"

"My gods! You are!" Rumple gasped, taking his inebriated offspring by the shoulder and guiding him into the castle. "Where did you get it, Bae?"

"From . . . uh . . . some other kids," Bae answered, hiccupping a bit. He was starting to feel a bit funny now, as if he were floating in a purple haze.

The Dark One felt a momentary flash of anger and a longing to find whoever had given his vulnerable son alcohol and pickle them in their own drink . . . cut into pieces. The next instant he was grabbing his son, as Bae stumbled to his knees.

"Whoops!" Bae giggled. "The floor's moving, Papa! Are we on a boat?"

Rumple groaned. "Come on, Bae," he said, helping his son to his feet. "My gods, you're three sheets to the wind."

Bae staggered, for some reason not only was the floor moving, but his legs were like strands of wet noodles and wouldn't hold him up.

Rumple caught him as he started to fall again, putting one arm beneath his knees and picking him up. He draped Bae over his shoulder and began to walk up the stairs, thanking the gods he wasn't lame now, not since he'd used his magic to heal himself. He grunted as he hauled the boy up the stairs, muttering, "Damn, boy, but you've put on some weight. Either that or my arms have gone soft."

Bae hiccupped again and squirmed in his father's grasp. His position was beginning to make him feel dizzy . . . and queasy. "Papa . . . I don't feel well . . ."

Rumple snorted. "I'm not surprised. Stop wriggling." They had almost reached the top of the spiral staircase.

Bae felt his head swim. "Papa . . ." He attempted to sit up, trying to figure out why he felt like a top twirling round and round.

"Baelfire! Stop moving!" Rumple growled, almost knocked off balance by his son's wriggling.

"Lemme go!" Bae cried.

"Keep still, dammit!" Rumple swore, irritated by his son's obstinate disobedience, he swatted him on the bottom.

Bae yelped and sniffled, his eyes watering. "Oww!"

"Quit acting like I switched you," his father ordered, rolling his eyes. "I didn't hit you that hard."

"Did too!" Bae pouted, but he remained still as the Dark One carried him to his room.

Rumple brought him over to the bed and gently lowered him onto it, sitting him up and saying, "Let me take your boots off and give you some water, then you can lie down and sleep it off. Hells, I feel like I'm dealing with your mother."

"Don' have a mama," Bae muttered, looking down at his feet.

Rumple just shook his head. "You don't seem to have the brains the gods gave a goose either." He gestured and Bae's boots were removed and put neatly beside his dresser. Another beckon and a cup of cool water was in his hand. "Here. Sip it. And don't give me that look, young man. We are going to have a long talk about this tomorrow morning. A _long_ talk."

Bae sipped the water. Then his eyes went wide as he felt his tummy spasm. "Papa . . .I'm gonna . . ."

"No!" Rumple yelped, trying to conjure a bucket.

Too late.

Bae threw up . . . all over Rumple.

The Dark One stared down at himself . . . his silk shirt and dragonscale leathers . . . dripping with vomit. "Urgh! Baelfire, you are _so_ lucky you're my son."

Bae looked up at him, giving him a guilty grin, the same as he used to as a little boy when he'd been caught touching something he knew he shouldn't. "Oops."

Rumple groaned. "Gods help me." Then he waved a hand and cleaned his clothes with magic. He summoned a wet towel and wiped Bae's face, then after getting him to sip some more water, managed to get the boy to lie down.

"Go to sleep, son," he murmured. "If you're this bad now, I shudder to think what you'll be like tomorrow morning. And if I ever find the idiot who gave you applejack to drink, I'm drowning him in the damn barrel!"

He tucked the covers around his son, who was now snoring loudly, wincing at the fumes coming from the boy's mouth. Shaking his head, he watched Bae sleep for a few more moments before he transported himself downstairs and ate a solitary supper of fruit, cold ham, bread and butter, along with some tea. As he ate, he wondered where the hell he'd gone wrong.

**A/N: Hope you liked how I portrayed Peter . . . and explained where his name came from. Pan was the god of nature and often played on a set of pipes called pan pipes in Greek mythology. And sometimes he held revels in the forest. What did you think of the Rumple/Bae interaction? I wanted to portray Rumple as still being a father , despite his Dark One curse. Thanks for all your awesome reviews!**


	3. House Arrest

**3**

**House Arrest **

The next morning was a rough one for both Rumple and Bae, since Bae woke up with the mother of all hangovers. Apparently, applejack did _not_ agree at all with his system, and he was so sick with a headache and nausea that he just wanted to lie down and die right there on the floor of his room.

Which was where Rumple found him at five in the morning, as he came to check on him- curled up, holding his head and whimpering like he was being tortured on the rack, next to a sticky pool of vomit. "Ah, Baelfire! Why didn't you call me, son?" his father sighed, gently helping the boy sit up.

Bae's pajamas were sticky with vomit and sweat, his hair was sticking up like crazy, and his eyes were bloodshot. "Jus' lemme die, Papa," he groaned pathetically. " . . . the light . . . hurts my eyes . . . an' my head's gonna come off . . ."

"It only feels that way, son," he murmured, slightly sympathetic to the boy's plight. He waved a hand and cleaned up Bae's clothes and the floor, then slung the youngster's arm about his neck and helped his son up. "Okay. Let's get you washed up. Come on, put one foot in front of the other . . . that's it . . ."

They slowly made their way across the room and down the hall to the bathroom. Indoor plumbing was a new concept here on the border of the Enchanted Forest and King Maurice's kingdom, but Rumple had seen the benefits of it immediately and was thankful he didn't have to drag his sick child out into the chilly morning to an outhouse.

As it was they barely made it to the bathroom before Bae had to throw up again.

Rumple held his son upright while he puked what seemed like an entire barrel of applejack into the toilet, placing a wet cloth over the back of his son's neck as he held the boy's head. "Easy, Bae. Don't fight it," he told him, sensing the boy was trying to stop throwing up, probably from embarrassment.

"Papa . . . why'm I sick like this?" Bae cried, horrified at how terrible he felt. His head felt like a thousand dwarfs had just tap danced all over it, his vision was blurry, and his tummy hurt like ten hells from vomiting. He was slumped over the toilet, afraid to move away, because his stomach still felt like it was going to turn itself inside out.

"This is what's called a hangover, son," Rumple informed him, lecturing gently as he leaned Bae up against him and wiped his face with a conjured towel. "Alcohol's no good for you in large amounts, it's like a poison, and if you abuse it, your body's going to tell you it's a bad idea in no uncertain terms." He conjured a cup of water and set it to his son's lips. "Sip it."

Bae shook his head. "No . . . can't . . . don't wanna . . ."

"Bae, you have to. You're sick, the water will help," Rumple urged. "Drink."

His son reluctantly sipped the water. It stayed down only a few minutes before coming right up again. His throat and nose burned from throwing up, and he tried again to quit heaving, but couldn't. " . . . gods . . . can't stop . . ."

Rumple held him and rubbed his back, saying, "This is how your body purges itself of poison, son. It's like the time I had to give you milkweed syrup after you ate my bilberry dye when you were three."

" . . . hate this . . ." Bae gulped. " . . . use magic to make it stop . . .?" he whimpered.

Rumple winced, knowing his son had to be feeling utterly wretched to even make such a request. "Sorry. I don't know a spell to fix this, son." He knew a few spells to heal wounds, but nothing to fix morning afters. Probably because the former Dark Ones couldn't get drunk, being immortal.

" . . . just want . . . to see me . . . suffer . . ." Bae muttered crankily, so miserable he didn't care if he was being unfair to his father right then.

"Is that what you think?" Rumple snapped, astonished. "That I like seeing you this way? Well, I don't . . . even though it's your own fault for getting this way in the first place. Maybe now you'll know better, huh?"

Bae was sure he would . . . providing he was still alive to do so.

Rumple got him to keep drinking water, even though he puked half of it up, until by the third time he stopped doing so, and the sorcerer could sit him down and wash his face and hands before helping him back to bed.

He provided a basin and another cool cloth soaked with lavender for his son's head, and had him lie down while he went to make some herbal tea which was good for headaches.

Bae just lay there, praying his stomach quit revolting, and his head stayed on his shoulders, vowing to never drink another drop of applejack again. He wondered if any of the other boys were sicker than dogs, and hoped they were. He knew his papa was right, and he was to blame for getting drunk, but perversely he didn't want to put all the blame on himself, so he blamed part of his misery on Rumple, since Rumple was the reason why he'd run off to find company his own age.

The Dark One returned with a mug of tea and a spoon, and spent the next fifteen minutes coaxing his son to drink it, giving him two spoonfuls at intervals, making sure it stayed down before he gave Bae some more. Sick and in pain, the boy complained about his father's methods, but Rumple just ignored him and did what he'd done for Milah under the same circumstances, until Bae had half the dose of tea in him.

"All right, son," he said when he was sure the tea wasn't going to end up in the basin. "Now you can rest. When you wake up we'll discuss your behavior."

"You're gonna punish me even after this?" Bae said sullenly.

"_This_ is what happens when you drink yourself stupid," Rumple said bluntly. "Something which I know I've told you never to do. Now you suffer the price of your folly. But that's not all you did, dearie, so we're going to talk about it later. Get some sleep."

Bae turned his head away and closed his eyes. True, he had disobeyed his papa and run off without telling him where he was going, but really, wasn't this punishment enough? Sometimes, he thought rebelliously, his father could be so unfair! Then he sank into sleep, as the stabbing pain in his head receded somewhat due to the feverfew and honey tea.

Rumple left then, shaking his head. Anyone who ever said raising children was easy was definitely insane. And while he knew he wasn't the best parent, he was trying the best he could to give his son what he'd never had growing up, despite the curse that had sunk its teeth into his soul, and which was slowly turning him into a beast.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Several hours of sleep later, Bae woke minus the dreadful headache, and his stomach was no longer knotted up and hurting. But after drinking so much water and tea he needed the bathroom, and cautiously sat up and went to use it. When he returned, he found his papa sitting on the chair he used at his small desk, waiting for him.

The boy dragged his feet a bit upon seeing Rumple, not very anxious to talk about his misadventures, but knowing this was one conversation he'd not be able to avoid, and so he might as well get it over with.

Rumple looked up when he saw his son come in, and asked, "Feeling better? Or are you still throwing up your toenails?"

Bae winced at the comment and shook his head before sitting down on the bed. "No, Papa. I' m . . . better now. My headache's gone."

"Good. Then my tea worked," Rumple said, pleased. Then he gave Baelfire a look of extreme disappointment mixed with reproof, the kind of look that said without words _I'm very disappointed in you and now you're in trouble_.

Bae glanced up and then looked at his feet, hating that look as much now as he had when he was younger and been caught in some mischief. Rumplestiltskin had always managed to convey more with a single glance than most people did with ten sentences, and that was as true now as it had always been. Bae hunched his shoulders slightly and waited for the scolding to begin.

"So . . . you went on an unsupervised picnic without my permission and then came home drunk off your ass," Rumple stated, quietly but with an edge to the words that conveyed volumes. "Why?"

Bae bit his lip. He hated how his father always demanded he give reasons for his behavior . . . why couldn't he just hand out punishments like every other parent Bae knew did? What was the point of making Bae state what he'd done wrong anyway? Sometimes Rumple confused the hell out of the boy. He heaved a sigh and said, reluctantly, "'Cause I was sick of always being trapped here . . . and I . . . heard some pipes playing and wanted to see what was going on."

"So you decided to just leave without asking?" Rumple probed.

"You'd never have let me go," Bae replied defiantly.

"How do you know that? You didn't ask."

"I just do," Bae answered stubbornly. "They were having a picnic and they asked me to join them so I did. We . . . played games and stuff and ate sausages and . . . er . . .drank applejack."

"Baelfire, you know I've told you not to drink alcohol. So why did you?"

"Because . . . everyone was doing it," he answered sulkily.

"That's a bad answer, son. If everyone was going to rob someone, would you do it?"

"No, of course not!"

"Why not?"

"Because . . . it's wrong."

"Yes . . . and so is getting drunk because all your friends are," Rumple reiterated. "A fact which I hope you've learned pretty well by now."

"Yes, sir," his son muttered, blushing.

"Speaking of your so-called friends," Rumple began, his tone still quiet, but with a soft growl to it. "I don't think you should see them anymore."

"See? I knew you'd be like this!" his son accused angrily. "I never have any friends, thanks to you!"

"Thanks to me? _I_ wasn't the one who gave you alcohol to drink. What you just did showed me that you can't be allowed outside this castle without a keeper, young man," Rumple lectured.

"No! That's not true," Bae objected. "They aren't bad boys . . . we were having fun . . . you just don't understand . . ."

"What I understand, Baelfire, is that they got you drunk! That is not how a friend behaves, not in my book. Where did they come by the applejack? Because no responsible adult would sell or give something like that to anyone your age or even a little older."

Bae shrugged. "I dunno. Somebody got it."

"Probably somebody stole it," Rumple corrected. "And that's not the kind of friends I want you to have, Bae—"

"You don't want me to have _any_ friends!" Bae snapped. "You want me to be stuck in this moldy old castle and wither away here."

"No, I want you to be safe," Rumple began. There were so many dangers out there! His son couldn't see them because he wasn't looking for them, children never did.

"I don't want to be safe, Papa! I want to have a life! To be like other boys—only you won't let me. You don't want me to have any friends because you never did!" Bae cried. "And you still don't . . . because who wants to be friends with the Dark One?" His words were biting and sharp, barbed and designed to hurt.

They struck Rumple like arrows, stinging and pricking, and he glared at his son. "How dare you say that? I don't want you to make the wrong kind of friends . . . like I did. I'd rather you have no friends than the kind that make you drunk and do the gods know what else!"

"I'm not like you, Papa!" Bae lashed back. "I'm not some coward—" the instant those words left his lips, Bae wished he could unsay them. But it was too late.

Hurt, Rumple went on the defensive. "Is that what you think of me, Baelfire?"

"Papa . . . I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean it . . ."

"Didn't you?" Rumple said, the old despair sweeping over him. He had always been afraid that his son would think of him like everyone else did . . . and now it had happened. It hurt more than he'd thought possible. To mask the pain, Rumple allowed his temper to surface. "Well, your coward father is still in charge here, young man," he growled, his eyes slitting. "And you deliberately disobeyed me by wandering off like that, and look what happened. I hope you think one lousy picnic with your _friends_—" he sneered the word.—is worth the price you'll pay. You're going to stay here from now on, you're not allowed to go anywhere unless I'm with you."

"What? Papa, you're so unfair! I'm twelve, not two!"

"I don't care if you're twenty-two! As long as you live under my roof, you'll obey my rules," Rumple hissed, keeping control of his cursed temper by the slimmest of margins.

"This sucks!"

"Yes, it does. But you brought it on yourself, so I don't want to hear it. Now you can stay in here until supper," his father said, rising.

"For how long?"

"I just told you . . ."

"No. I mean how long is my punishment?" Bae clarified.

"Until I say it's over with."

"But . . . how long's that?"

"The foreseeable future."

"You're going to keep me under house arrest forever?"

"Until I see an improvement in your behavior," Rumple allowed.

"Like what?"

"You know what, boy. I don't need to spell it out for you. You're not the same boy I used to know," he said softly.

"Well, you're not the same either!" Bae pointed out.

"That's neither here nor there. This isn't about me. It's about you," Rumple declared coldly. Then he stalked out of the room.

His son glared after him. Everything had changed since Rumplestiltskin had become the Dark One. "You've become a monster, Papa. And you don't even realize it."

Then he threw himself down on his bed, wishing he were anywhere but here.

**A/N: Hope you all like the way this is going. Let me know! Thanks-**


	4. Compulsion

**4**

**Compulsion**

Still sulky and angry at his father, Bae came down to supper when Rumple called him, determined to eat as little as possible and then go back upstairs, giving his parent the cold shoulder. Rumple had made roasted chicken thighs and legs that night, as well as small new potatoes, roasted with butter to a golden crisp with pepper, salt, basil, and oregano. There was also rapunzel and watercress salad made with onions and nuts and tiny red oranges with a spicy sweet dressing and some kind of bread. Despite his resolve, Bae found himself unable to remain ambivalent about dinner, it was too good.

He had seconds of everything, and Rumple looked pleased at his son's appetite. "Do you like it?" his father asked. "I made a deal with village baker for the rolls and the butcher had chicken and his wife suggested I make the salad this way. I did the rest myself with the spices."

"It's really good, Papa," Bae said, biting into a chicken leg. As he chewed, a new thought occurred to him. "You didn't . . . magic this dinner, did you?"

Rumple frowned. "Magic it how? No, I didn't use magic to cook this or to prepare it," he told Bae calmly. "I used my own two hands and the herbs I found in the herb garden out back. Speaking of the garden, I'll need you to weed it sometime this week."

Bae nodded, relieved that the reason the food tasted good wasn't because of some spell. Weeding the garden wasn't the gods-awful chore it might have been either, since it got him outside and he'd done it before, back when they lived in their tiny cottage, he knew the difference between herbs used for cooking and weeds. "Do you want me to pick some herbs to dry too?"

"Yes, that way we'll have enough when winter comes," Rumple said, though he knew he probably could have conjured whatever he needed. But he was used to doing things the way he'd always done them, and despite his cursed powers, he wasn't totally dependant upon the magic to do everything for him.

Father and son washed dishes that night together, and as Bae dried them and put them away in the cupboard, he thought that it was almost the way it had been before, back when Rumple was just a spinner and for a moment he imagined himself back in their little cottage . . . until he saw Rumple putting the leftovers into the magical pantry, which was spelled to keep the foods placed in it at exactly the right temperature to prevent spoiling, and then the knot in the pit of his stomach came back and he said shortly, "I'm going upstairs," and stalked away, leaving his father staring at his retreating back and wondering what had come over him.

Shaking his head at the intransigence of children, Rumple went to the den and picked up some yarn of a soft cream color, and began to knit a scarf, the familiar clickety-clack of the needles serving to soothe his troubled soul.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

For two weeks, Rumplestiltskin kept a sharp eye on his son, giving Bae plenty of chores to do in and around the castle, and making sure he obeyed his stricture of staying on the castle grounds. He tried as much as possible to stay with Bae and get him to talk with him, though sometimes the boy would retreat into these black sullen moods and refuse to say anything to Rumple at all. When that happened, Rumple would just withdraw and wait for Bae to come out of it, figuring it was a result of always being stuck in the castle. And the next day he would give the boy some chore about the yard, like washing the courtyard with a long hose and a broom like they used on ships, or planting some shrubbery along the walk, or collecting bits of bark and leaves, which Rumple used in his potions.

He observed Bae seemed happier when he was outside, and since the weather was nice, Rumple tried to give his son as much time as possible outdoors.

Bae, for his part, had discovered that sulking and complaints got him nothing except scoldings was boring after three days, so he stopped doing so, and instead resolved to take his punishment with good grace, since that would show his father he could behave and might get Rumple to let him off early. As the days passed, and Rumple stayed at the castle instead of haring off making deals every day, Bae began to hope his father was shaking off the curse that possessed him.

His mood somewhat brightened, Bae asked Rumple one afternoon if he could borrow his wheel, and began to spin some thread. He spun about three spools before halting and taking his work into the small area Rumple had designated the weaving room, and began to weave upon the loom Rumple had put there.

Pleased that his son was doing something he used to like, Rumple let him weave as long as he wished. By the end of a week, Bae had woven a soft merino shawl of a cream color, like milk with a touch of honey in it. Once it was done, the boy took it and swirled it about his shoulders. It was comfortable to wear, not too heavy and not too thin, and Bae thought it would serve him as a good shawl for either summer or winter.

He went to show his father the completed shawl. "Look, Papa! I finished it."

Rumple looked at the shawl and gently stroked it inbetween his fingers. "This is very good work, Bae. Good job, son!"

Bae smiled, feeling proud of himself. "Thanks, Papa. I just . . . remembered what you showed me the last time."

"Yes, I can see that. This shawl will keep you warm when winter comes and even in summer when it gets cool. If we were still Guild members, I would submit this for your journeyman piece, and you would receive a medal for it."

"Really?" Bae was astonished.

"Really, dearie," Rumple said. As a master spinner and weaver, he knew quality when he saw it. Then he did something he hadn't done in a long time—he hugged his son. And Bae let him. For the first time since he was cursed, Rumple allowed himself to hope that maybe he hadn't driven his son away after all.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

He should have known better. The curse of the Dark One was such that at times it could be light as a feather, and at others heavier than a mountain. Rumple had learned during the first month of taking the curse into himself, that it compelled him to make deals with people, that such was a requirement of the dark magic—to encourage those desperate souls to make bargains—sometimes for their own sakes or another's—but each bargain came with a price. That in itself was not unusual, but what was totally foreign to the former spinner was that he had no say in what price he requested for his aid.

All magic came with a price—but the dark magic had its own idea of what a deal consisted of—and the price that must be paid for it. And it forced the Dark One to abide by its desires, causing Rumple to demand prices that were sometimes harsh or terrible in nature, as the magic saw fit. The first few times the magic had told him what a price must be for something—such as blood or a finger or once a man's beloved horse—Rumple tried to alter the payment . . . only to find that even as he did so . . . something terrible would happen to the person he'd made the deal with . . . and the magic's true price would be paid . . . and he would suffer blinding headaches and wracking pains for having defied the curse.

Eventually, Rumple began to see it was hopeless, that he couldn't win against the compulsion the dark magic thrust upon him, and stopped trying to alter the price the dark magic demanded. Instead he offered fair warning to those who called upon him for aid that there was always a price required for it . . . and sometimes the price might be one they didn't want to pay . . . so to think carefully before agreeing to any deal they made.

It was the only way he could subvert the compulsion and not trigger the curse's retribution.

He had also discovered the dark magic caused him to feel pleasure when he used it as it wished to be used, and sometimes that feeling of false joy was the only happiness he could feel, as the curse sucked all of the joy and light from him gradually, leaving him cold and empty, with only a gnawing dissatisfaction and rage to feed him. It frightened him terribly, for he could feel the man he'd once been starting to disappear, lost to a savage beast, a creature of dark impulses and cruelty, feared and hated, with terrible power, yet a slave to the curse's dark desires.

There were some days he could feel the curse working on him, and it was then he stayed away from the castle, for fear he might lose control and hurt Baelfire. He knew without knowing how that his son was one of the few reasons he had to cling to his humanity, to that spark of goodness and gentleness still within him, to recall that he could still love and be loved in return.

Without his son there, he feared he would surrender entirely to the dagger curse, and truly become the Dark One.

For two weeks, Rumple had managed to sublimate the compulsion to make deals, going to town and making small ones with some of the townspeople, but then the dark magic decided it needed a true deal to be made, and so when a young woman desperate to save her child called upon him for aid, Rumple was compelled to answer her.

He left Bae asleep and vanished upon the wings of magic, only to reappear inside a richly appointed house. A young woman of around twenty-five or so dressed in the fine fabric of a merchant or noble woman was kneeling beside a bed, where a young child of about two lay, pale as the sheets he was lying on. "You called, dearie?"

The woman jerked around, startled. When she beheld Rumple, she said, her voice drained of all feeling, "You . . . you're the Dark One?"

"Rumplestiltskin, as you see, dearie," he introduced himself, giving her a mocking bow, though the mockery was directed at himself, not at her. "What can I do for you? But be warned . . . all magic comes with a price. And sometimes the price may not be to your liking."

"I . . .I don't care what price you demand, I'll pay it. You can take my life in exchange, Dark One, just help my boy there. He . . . was stricken with a fever not two days ago and nothing we've tried . . . nothing any healer has tried . . . has worked. So I . . . I called you . . . because maybe magic can do what they cannot. Please, save my child!"

Rumple cringed inwardly. These were the requests he hated the most, because he knew what it was to be truly desperate, to truly fear for the life of your child, and be willing to pay anything to keep that precious one safe. He went to examine the little boy.

But as soon as he touched the child he knew there was nothing his magic could do.

He looked at the mother, her eyes bright with hope, and shook his head regretfully. "Sorry, dearie. I can't save him."

"Why? You're the most powerful sorcerer in the realms! Surely your magic can do this one thing for me!" she cried.

"Magic can do much, but no this, dearie. I cannae bring back the dead. Dead is dead."

"No!" she howled. "I . . . I risked my husband's displeasure to . . . to call you . . . and now you tell me it's all for nothing! You're the Dark One—why can't you just bring him back?"

"It doesn't work that way, dearie. Magic cannot raise the dead, I don't care what tales you've heard," Rumple repeated softly. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, trying to offer what poor comfort he could.

She drew back as if he were poison. "Don't touch me, you revolting creature!"

Hiding a flinch at her disgust, Rumple said, "I'm sorry, but perhaps there's a way to still give you what you want . . .it's just a different deal," he said, feeling the compulsion gnawing at his vitals.

"What do you mean?"

"You want a living child . . . but I can't give you your own child back," he began. "However, I _can_ give you another child to love . . . just not your own. Would you be willing to make a deal for an orphan instead—a child who, like you, has no one left, but desperately needs a home and a family who loves him? You get a child, he gets a mother . . . you both win, no?"

"I . . .I don't know if my husband would agree . . . he . . . he hates anything unnatural . . ."

"He would never have to know, dearie. I could make this child look like your dead son . . . and only you would ever know the truth . . . that you took a foundling into your heart . . . and saved some poor boy from a wretched fate in a workhouse or a street gang. What do you say? Have we got a deal?"

"No one would know?" she pressed.

"No one . . . except you and me, dearie." His palms itched and he rubbed them together.

The woman bit her lip, looking at the boy on the bed. "I . . .I just want my son back . . . but if . . . that's impossible like you say . . .I'll take your offer, Dark One."

"Good. And will you raise the boy like your own . . . and love him as well?" Rumple probed.

"Of course! He'll be my son," the lady replied.

"Very well," Rumple let the curse direct him to a nearby orphanage, and pick a small boy from among the many unwanted children there, and brought him to the lady. As soon as he cast the glamourie, the woman cried, "Oh! He looks just like my son! If I didn't know better . . ." she stared down at the boy on the bed, fast asleep.

"Yes, dearie. And now, the price required of you . . ." Rumple began, feeling a queasy feeling run through him. He hoped it wouldn't be too bad. The dark magic seemed to be considering . . . and then it let Rumple know what would be required. "Since I have given you something precious, you must give me something in return. Something you hold dear."

"I . . . Uh . . . she seemed at a loss, then she murmured, "Okay . . . this is one of the few things I have left of my mother . . . she gave it to me before she died . . . I never take it off . . . here it is . . ." She unclasped a heavy gold necklace which looked authentic and had rubies, sapphires, and diamonds on it.

Rumple took it, and heaved a sigh of relief when the magic did not protest. "Good choice dearie. Now, I'll leave you alone to get acquainted with your new son. He seems to have made a miraculous recovery."

Tucking the necklace into his pocket, he vanished a second later.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

When he arrived back at the Dark Castle, he found Bae was awake and eating some oatmeal in the kitchen. "Papa! Where were you?"

"I had to go out, dearie. Someone requested my aid," Rumple told him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the necklace, trying to figure if he could remove the jewels and sell them for cash a little at a time.

Bae stared at the necklace, clearly a woman's jewelry. "Papa! Where did you get that?" he gasped.

"From a woman who made a deal with me. She wanted me to save her little boy, but it was too late, he was dead-"

"So you took her jewelry in payment?" Bae cried, his eyes flashing. "Papa, that's awful! Taking advantage of a poor woman's grief like that."

"Baelfire, I didn't take advantage of her," Rumple protested. "I wouldn't do that, son."

"You're the Dark One . . . of course you would!" Bae snapped.

"I didn't. Now hush up and listen," Rumple snapped. "The necklace was in payment for a deal completed. I couldn't give her back her boy, but I could give her another child in exchange . . . one she could love just as much . . . and that's what I did. The price for it was something precious she owned, and she gave me this necklace in return for the child I provided. I took advantage of no one."

Bae listened in horror as his father told him of the deal he'd made, an exchange of one child for another . . . and he felt cold down to the marrow of his bones. "No . . . you stole somebody else's child, Papa! How could you! _That's_ the deal you made with her?" he looked at Rumple in horror.

"Bae, it's not like you think," Rumple protested. "I didn't steal a child . . . the magic provided one when she agreed to my terms . . ."

"You can try and sugar coat it all you want, but you're not fooling me, Papa! I've heard the stories . . . the Dark One takes firstborn children from their cradles as payment." Bae hissed, looking ill.

"That was the former Dark One, Baelfire!" Rumple cried. "Surely you don't think I would ever do such a thing? Even cursed I'd never—"

"I don't believe you! You'll say anything to make yourself look good," Bae cried, sickened. "You're . . . you're despicable!" He pushed back his chair and ran over to the back door, shoving it open.

"Baelfire! Come back! Let me explain!" Rumple shouted. "You're wrong, dammit! I don't steal children. The boy was an orphan!"

But Bae was already gone, running across the yard to fling himself down under an old beech tree, shaking and shivering with dread. If his father really did steal children . . .if his cursed nature permitted that sort of atrocity . . . where would it end?

Baelfire curled up against the trunk, his eyes stinging with tears. His papa was a monster for real now . . . and he didn't know how he could live with a man who stole innocent children and called it a good deal. Miserable, he put his head on his knees and cried quietly.

Just then the familiar haunting strains of silver pipes began to play, swirling through the air, coaxing and compelling all who heard them to come and play.

Bae picked up his head, the sprightly tune intoxicating as applejack in his blood. Pan! Pan was calling him! He thought of how he had enjoyed the company of Peter and the other boys . . . except for the fact that they'd gotten him drunk . . . how he missed the company of other boys . . . and suddenly he couldn't bear being here any longer . . . with his beast of a father . . . he needed to be free . . . needed to follow the music that called to the lonely lost places within his soul . . . and begged him to come along and join in the revels and games of those who heard it . . .

Bae climbed to his feet, lured by the enchanting music down across the pasture and over the low stone wall . . . to the glade where Peter and his band of Lost Boys waited . . . where he could feel normal for once, like he belonged, and where he could forget, just for awhile, that he was the son of the Dark One.

**A/N: Hope you all liked. I wanted to show the Dark One curse as something truly evil and something that was a compulsion which caused the bearer to act against his own nature. And you can see Bae has a compulsion of his own in Pan's music. Review, please!**


	5. Pan's Offer

**5**

**Pan's Offer**

Bae found himself in the same clearing in the woods as last time he'd followed the Piper's music, only there were more boys there than last time, and a few of them looked to be about nine or ten, younger than Bae by two or three years. Felix was there and so was Rolly and a few others Bae recognized from the village below the castle, which was called Hamelin. Bae had gone there once or twice with Rumple back when they'd first arrived at the drafty abandoned keep, and he was good with remembering names and faces. He supposed it was the artist in him. He thought of how many new faces were there, and wondered why Peter had summoned so many boys to him.

The Piper himself was sitting on the same log as last time, his pipes playing a haunting melody, one that urged any boy who heard it to cast all responsibility to the wind and dance and play without a care in the world.

As before, the boys had built a bonfire in the glade, and this time were roasting squabs and sausages over it. Someone had also brought bread this time and a large jar of honey and Bae saw another keg of applejack sitting off to one side. He felt his stomach do a flipflop and quickly resolved not to touch the stuff, no matter how thirsty he got. No way did he want to repeat the morning he'd had after drinking that stuff again!

He allowed the Piper's tune to draw him into the glade, nodding at some of the boys he recognized from last time he'd been among them.

Pan lowered his pipes and called softly, "You've come back, Bae. Have a seat, meet some of the new lads."

"Hello, Peter," Bae said quietly, smiling at the other boy, who seemed glad to see him again. "I'd have come sooner but . . . my papa wouldn't let me out of my house."

Peter frowned and said, "He locked you in your room or something? Why? Is he like . . . strict and controlling or something?"

Bae scowled. "He didn't lock me up, but he . . . made me stay home and do chores and things. And yes, he's very controlling sometimes. He thinks . . . he thinks he's always right and I'm wrong."

"That's too bad," Peter said, his tone understanding. "No boy should have to live with a father like that. Makes me glad I never knew mine."

"Why?" Bae asked curiously. "What happened to him?"

Peter shrugged. "He died. Or left for greener pastures, as they say. I don't really know, he was gone soon after I was born. Don't really care either. Only . . . sometimes other children were mean to me because of it . . . until I taught them better," there was a warning growl to his tone then, and an icy coldness in his gaze that made Bae shiver.

For an instant, Pan reminded him of his cursed father in a temper, and Bae wondered how long the other boy had had access to magic. For though Peter never said so, Bae was almost certain the other boy had magic. "And your mother? What about her?"

Peter snorted. "My mother was a weak little thing. Too good for this world, as the old woman who came to watch me when I was little used to say. She died when I was nine, leaving me nothing but debts and a silly thimble. I think she thought I could use it and become a tailor," he sneered. "She was a seamstress and a dressmaker. As if I'd ever follow such a useless occupation as that! Sewing other folks clothing and such! How demeaning! I apprenticed myself to a potion maker when I was old enough, you know, one of those traveling ones . . . and he taught me everything he knew about making cure-alls . . . and getting yokels to buy them."

"You mean . . . you were a . . . a hocus pocus man?" Bae blurted.

"I prefer the term panacea producer," Pan said lazily, curling a foot about the log. "Our potions were good at curing most things . . . just not everything. And it wasn't my fault that stupid people thought they could and bought them to cure things that weren't . . . like the plague or their grandma's gout or black lung sickness or stuff like that. But people believe what they want to . . . and they always blame others when something goes wrong."

"But . . . you didn't feel bad that people bought your potions thinking it would cure their sick relatives and it didn't work?" Bae asked, frowning a bit. Rumple had always warned him about those confidence men who played upon desperate people's hopes, saying they were dishonest cheats who deserved to be run out of town on a rail or worse.

"Why should I? _I_ never told them it would cure everything like they thought," Pan said slyly, though he had allowed those desperate folk to assume as much. "If people thought the potions were magic, then they were dumb and deserved to be made fools of."

"Did you have magic?"

"Not then," Pan said. "My magic only developed later," he said, shaking his pipes to illustrate his point. He didn't tell Bae that he'd always been able to manipulate people, either with his words or the tone of his voice, and he'd learned at a young age how to use others' fears and weaknesses against them. He'd discovered there was nothing quite like the taste of power, and domination over someone gave him a rush like none other.

"Did you . . . use magic to . . . call us here?" Bae wanted to know, fearing suddenly he'd been enchanted.

Peter snickered. "Why would I need to do that, Bae? Aren't you sick of your father's stupid rules? Of doing what he says all the time? Don't you want to just run off and say to hell with what he wants? What about what _you_ want?"

Bae nodded slowly, thinking that here was someone who understood what he felt. He was so busy feeling glad about that fact that he failed to notice that Pan hadn't truly answered his question. "I want . . . I want to be free . . ."

"That's what we all want," Pan said, and played a short aria upon his pipes. "Just ask any of the lads here and you'll see."

Bae got up to get something to eat, as he was hungry, since he'd run from the Dark Castle without finishing his breakfast after learning of his papa's deception. As he got some sausage and bread and noticed a small barrel filled with spring water, which he quickly dipped a cup from, he overheard some of the other boys complaining about their parents.

A few were true orphans, but most of those gathered there still had one or both parents living, and were sick of their rules and regulations. Bae could sympathize with them totally, for he was sick of Rumple's rules as well . . . especially because his papa no longer practiced what he preached, the way he used to.

Bae sat down to eat his bread and sausage, and afterwards went to play with some of the other boys who were having a game of kick ball. He was having a good time, racing for the ball and helping his team score goals, when Pan began to play a rather stirring air upon his pipes and suddenly the games all stopped as the Piper stood and addressed them.

"Lads, I have a proposition for you all. I know that many of you have . . . less than ideal home lives . . . some of you have no parents, others have parents you'd rather be rid of. That's why we're all here, right? To get away from those adults who would seek to restrict us and bind us to their way of thinking. Now, wouldn't it be great if you could go somewhere you'd _never_ have to listen to your parents or masters again? A place where no adult was telling you to do your chores, go to bed, eat all your vegetables, listen to what they tell you, and all the rest of that malarkey? Don't you ever get sick and tired of them telling you how to live your life?"

"Yeah!" Felix shouted.

Several other boys joined in and Bae found himself nodding as well, caught up in the air of rebellion Pan engendered with his impassioned speech.

Pan smirked, sensing he had a captive audience, and continued. "So . . . what if I told you I could take you to a place where no adult could ever come, where the only rules you'd have to follow ever again were ones I set . . . to have fun, play all day, do whatever you wanted, and never have to listen to those boring parental lectures or be punished for not doing exactly as they say or behaving like they want you to? Would you be willing to follow me?"

"Where is this place, Peter?" Felix asked eagerly.

Bae had noticed that boy, who was about fourteen, with platinum blond hair and light blue eyes, was always the quickest to agree with whatever Pan said. Like Pan was his lord or something.

"Somewhere far away from here," Peter answered mysteriously. "But I can only take you there if you believe that I can give you something better than you've got here, lads . . . and what's better than being your own master? To hell with your parents! Who needs 'em?"

That statement was met with rounds of cheering and clapping and yells of agreement from most of the boys present. Only a few hesitated and looked confused and torn.

Bae was one of them. Pan's words sounded fine, like a dream come true, but there was something . . . something that made Bae hesitate. Rumple had taught him when selling wares at the market the old expression _caveat emptor—_let the buyer beware, for if a deal seemed too good to be true, it usually was. And there was always a catch.

Bae tried to figure out the hidden meaning in Peter's words, but couldn't find one. And the other boy was so charismatic, his smile beckoned one into his circle of friends, he was handsome and clearly worshipped by several of this band of "Lost Boys", that it made Bae feel foolish not to join in with the others.

After all, wasn't his papa living proof that parents could be horrid monsters?

And yet . . . and yet . . . Bae considered pragmatically where would they all live? He didn't think Pan had a castle somewhere just waiting for them all to move into it. And how would they survive, none of them were old enough to get work or make money, where would they find food and clothing? He looked up at Pan, intending to voice some of his concerns, but then Pan said, "I see not all of you are convinced of my sincerity. Well, lads, I guess that's to be expected. So . . . I'll give those of you who aren't time to think it over. But . . . when next I summon you with my pipes, best be ready to either go or stay. Your choice, lads."

There was something in the way he said that last that made Bae shudder . . . as if refusing would be a very bad idea.

But how could he go off and leave Rumple? His papa was all he'd ever had, and despite his current difficulties, Bae still loved him and didn't want to leave him alone. He just wished his papa would fight harder against the curse that bound him. But even thinking such thoughts made Bae feel guilty, because he knew he was the reason Rumple had been cursed in the first place.

Peter eyed Baelfire knowingly, as if he could read the other's mind, and then began to play a stirring tune upon his pipes, one that made all the boys listening start dancing and frolicking across the clearing, like wind spirits unleashed from a jar, free and uninhibited.

Bae rose and joined them, knowing this was probably the only taste of freedom he'd get for a long time once he returned home . . . and he allowed the skirling music to whirl him away, making him forget all his troubles and just be a carefree child again.

Pan watched as he played, sensing that some of the boys belonged to him already, and his savage cold heart rejoiced in glee. This was what he lived for—to subvert and corrupt innocents like these, and it was so easy to do so! A few bold promises, a few words whispered in their impressionable ears, and they were primed and ready to take his offer . . . and once they did so they would be his forevermore . . . but they would be so caught up in his little games they would never even recognize they were his prisoners. He smirked diabolically around the pipes in his mouth, and allowed his dark soul to feed upon the bright spark of innocence these foolish boys had so unwittingly given him, which was what his kind craved above all.

Of course there were always a few who hesitated, whose ties to their families were stronger than most . . . but he knew how to manipulate them into shattering those cumbersome bonds. It was something he'd grown rather good at over the centuries, for he was much older than the fifteen-year-old he appeared . . . much older . . . and much darker. And corrupting those children would be even sweeter and more satisfying, like the way prey was more satisfying to the hunter when it put up a fight. But eventually they would all come with him . . . they almost always did. There had been a handful who had not . . . but they'd always regretted it, Pan thought icily.

**Page~*~*~*~*~*~Break**

"Baelfire, where the _hell_ have you been?" Rumple snarled at his son the moment he felt the boy's presence in the castle courtyard. He was as furious as he'd ever been at his son's reckless behavior, once he had discovered that Bae had run off again and not just gone somewhere on the grounds to cool off like he'd thought at first.

Rumple had thought to give the boy some space, which was why he'd not gone after him to clear up their misunderstanding at once, but now it was hours later and he'd nearly gone out of his head worrying when he'd discovered Baelfire missing . . . again.

"I was . . . with some other boys from the village," Bae replied, staring at his papa in alarm. He'd never seen him so enraged before . . . Rumplestiltskin normally was not like this . . . he'd never had much of a temper and never snarled and shouted at him like he was doing now. Still, the boy reflected, he'd also never defied his papa this way before.

"The same ones who got you drunk?" Rumple demanded sarcastically, his voice sharper than an arctic wind.

Bae lowered his head, he didn't want to lie to his father, but he also didn't want to admit that particular truth. "Maybe," he mumbled.

Rumple felt his temper skyrocket at his son's cavalier response. The curse pricked and prodded him sharply, whispering in his head that such defiance shouldn't be tolerated, that he needed to make an example of the boy, needed to bind the little wretch with magic so he learned to obey and not keep wandering off every time he got in a snit.

The compulsion gripped Rumple in its dark claws like a vise, turning his guts to water, and making his entire body hum with the need to lash out at the boy, to use the dark power to subjugate and control.

_Use me. Use me. Take the defiant wretch and show him who's master here!_

Rumple felt he was drowning in a shadowy pool, the darkness smothering him from the inside out, and he knew it would only take a single nudge for him to go completely over the edge . . . and harm his precious son.

He gritted his teeth and turned his head away, letting his reptilian gaze rest upon the courtyard fountain and hissed, "Get your disobedient little backside inside, Balefire! Go sit on the couch and _don't move_ until I tell you!"

Bae found himself jumping to attention at the Dark One's command, dread curling within him, and he quickly went and did as he was told. He didn't even want to think about how much trouble he was in, and a part of him wished he'd taken Pan's offer right away instead of facing this. But another part of him whispered he should have expected this, after all he had disobeyed Rumple twice, and even his formerly easygoing papa wasn't _that_ much of a pushover. Actually, Bae reflected, he never had been. Just because Rumple didn't scream and hit him with a switch didn't mean Bae wasn't disciplined when necessary. Biting his nails nervously, he sat on the couch before the fireplace and waited.

_You're out of control, Rumple, _the cursed spinner thought as he struggled to keep from using magic upon his son . . . something he had sworn to never ever do . . . unless it was to save the boy's life. The dark magic spawned feelings of despair and anger in one who used it, it was almost like black poppy in that it took away one's self-control. Rumple detested that feeling . . . because for so long he'd been made to feel inferior to others due to a single decision to not risk dying in some stupid war and return to the family he loved.

He hadn't been able to control so many things in his life, like Milah's decision to leave him for another man, or stop loving him, but the one thing he had always controlled was his temper, especially around his son. From the beginning, Rumple had sworn he would never be like his father, the coward who had abandoned his family, the loudmouthed lout who had been quick to belittle his son and smack him around. Rumple had been ten when his father's cowardice had driven him to abandon his family, and he'd never forgiven the man for it . . . or for making his life hell before he disappeared.

Yet now here he was, practically frothing at the mouth, and wanting to curse Baelfire . . . or take a switch to him and beat him bloody.

Rumple knew it was the curse causing him to behave so irrationally. It was like a black beast upon his back, digging its claws into him, gibbering and urging him to give in to his temper and make the boy pay for defying him so.

_Use me. Use me._

The compulsion beat at his temples, making them throb, the dark magic singing a siren call of destruction through his head.

Rumple shook his head slightly, feeling as if he were going to combust from the terrible rage within him. He had to do something to relive this awful need.

_Fine. I will use you. But . . . not . . . like . . . that . . ._

He pointed a hand and let the magic explode from his fingertips.

It shattered the fountain, sending shards of marble and stone everywhere.

Chips of stone pinged upon the ground about him as he totally destroyed the fountain.

But the dark magic was still not appeased.

Rumplestilskin flexed his fingers and released several more destructive bolts, smashing stone pillars and the wall into smoking rubble . . . until the black beast was still and the rage that had possessed him spent.

Sated by his little tirade, the dark compulsion faded, until Rumple was once again in control of his own emotions. He mopped a brow sheened with sweat and gave a soft high-pitched giggle, mocking himself, as he sometimes did. He stared out at the ruined fountain and the broken stone wall, sighed, and mended them with a wave of his hand.

If only he could mend the relationship with his son so easily.

But at least he had gained a partial victory over the black beast today, he thought. It was something. Something in this wretched day he could be proud of.

His heart still heavy within him, he entered the castle and made his way to the couch in front of the hearth, where Bae was sitting. His son did not look defiant now, merely pensive, as would ordinarily be the case if he were in trouble. _That_ he could handle, he thought, and walked over and sat beside his son.

Bae looked up and started to open his mouth, but Rumple held up a hand. "I want you to be quiet and listen to me, Baelfire. Something you haven't been doing lately at all," he reprimanded, giving the boy a look of extreme disappointment. "You seem to think you know everything there is to know about my reasons for doing things, and the fact is you don't know anything at all. Take, for instance, the deal I made with that woman this morning. You didn't let me explain everything before you jumped to the conclusion that I stole a baby."

"But Papa, you said—"

"Don't put words in my mouth, Baelfire!" Rumple interjected. "I did _not_ steal a baby from anyone. When the woman summoned me, her child, who was around two, was already dead from a fever. There was nothing I could do for her, for even my powers cannot bring back the dead. However, I could and did offer her a new deal, one that benefited both her and the child I brought to her . . . who was an _orphan_ . . . in a small orphanage with a ratty blanket to barely cover him, shivering and alone in the cold and dark . . . I asked if she would agree to taking the child . . . who needed someone to love him as much as she needed a child to love . . . and I put a glamourie on him so her husband would never know at her request. And the price the magic demanded of her, son, was something precious she owned . . . which was the necklace you saw. _That_ was what I was doing this morning, not stealing babies or taking advantage of grief-stricken women."

Bae could hear the hurt in his father's tone, and he felt ashamed then that he had thought his papa capable of such cruelty . . . even if he was the cursed Dark One now. "I'm sorry, Papa. But I thought . . . all the rumors said . . ."

Rumple sighed. "You should be more careful, Baelfire, about listening to rumors. They almost always exaggerate and blow things out of proportion. Furthermore, my curse compels me to make deals, and the price demanded from them . . . is not something I control. The dark magic does. And since all magic comes with a price—a price must be paid, and it won't accept anything less than what it feels it's owed."

"What if you don't accept the price it wants?"

"Then it . . .punishes me . . . and still it gets what it wants . . .Bae, I know I'm not the same man I was a few months ago . . . but I'm trying . . . dammit it all, I'm trying to find a loophole in this blasted curse that will let me be a little of the man I used to be . . ."

"You can still be that man, Papa. All you have to do is . . . stop using magic!" Bae exclaimed.

"Baelfire, it's not that easy. Believe me, I've tried. The dark magic . . . it's very strong . . . it's like a black beast devouring me . . ." Rumple tried to explain.

"Then try harder, Papa!" Bae urged.

Rumple huffed. The boy couldn't understand . . . the curse wasn't as simple as his will against its desires . . . it was far more insidious than that. It took your will and warped it, took all your destructive emotions and brought them to the surface, turned love into hate, and made you become your worst self . . . and then it made you _like_ it. "I'm trying the best I can. I just want you to know that." He cleared his throat then. "And now, dearie, we're going to discuss this . . . penchant you have for running off every time you're upset or angry with me. It has to stop, Baelfire. I can understand you leaving to go somewhere private, like your room or some other place in the castle, but leaving here without my permission is not allowed. Baelfire, you know that. So why do you keep doing it?"

Bae bit his lip. He could hardly tell his father that being with Peter and the Lost Boys was the most fun he'd ever had since coming to the Dark Castle. His papa wouldn't want to hear that. Rumple didn't want him to have any friends. He shrugged. "It's boring here, Papa. At least out there . . . I have friends my own age . . ."

"Friends who encourage you to do things you know are wrong," Rumple said disapprovingly.

"It was my fault I got drunk, Papa," Bae admitted.

"True, but they tempted you into it. And now you've gone and defied me again, son. And for what? A few hours with some village boys? Was it worth the trouble you're in now?"

A stubborn glint came into his son's eyes then. He nodded abruptly.

"Glad you think so," Rumple said shortly. "Because now your punishment is doubled. Now you get not only two weeks of staying in the castle but within my line of sight . . . at _all_ times, Balefire."

Bae gaped at him. "You . . . you're not serious?"

"Yes, I am, dearie. Very serious. You're to stay where I can see you, every day and night . . . starting right now."

"What about when I . . . have to use the bathroom?!" Bae cried, horrified.

"Then I'll be outside the door waiting for you," Rumple said evenly. "But you'll sleep in my room at night as well, to make sure you won't wake up and run off."

"Papa, that's crazy!" Bae objected.

"If you don't like it, dearie, don't get in trouble," Rumple said, giving the boy his standard saying.

"You're being unfair! Yes, I know I ought to be in trouble for running off, but _this_? Papa, you're like a . . . a prison warden! What's next, chaining me to the dungeon wall?" Bae demanded sassily, his temper running away with him.

"If that's what it takes, young man, maybe I will, if you don't shape up!" Rumple snapped.

Bae flushed. This punishment was ridiculous, and he was angry his papa couldn't see it. "You really _do_ deserve to be called the Dark One!" he spat, before he could think better of it.

Rumple's eyes narrowed. Now he was angry . . . but this was not the uncontrolled rage of the curse. This was the anger any parent felt when his child was impudent and smarted off to him. "I've just about had it with your attitude, boy!" he growled. "You brought this on yourself and now you reap what you sow, young man. I warned you once to mind how you spoke to me, Balefire! I'm done with the disrespect, dearie."

Too late Bae realized he'd pushed too far.

There were things even Rumple wouldn't tolerate and this was one of them.

When he wished to, Rumplestiltskin could move like a snake striking, his curse giving him the ability to be swift and agile, as well as stronger than his mortal self. In a trice he'd pulled his impudent son across his lap and applied his hand firmly to his son's bottom.

Bae gasped and then yelped. Rumple hadn't paddled him this way since he was about six, and the humiliation hurt worse than the smacks themselves. Tears stung his eyes, but he refused to cry like a baby over a few well-deserved whacks. He gritted his teeth, flushing, but accepted the spanking without protest, lying still over Rumple's knee until it was over.

Afterwards, Rumple hugged him, and said softly, "You deserved that, but please don't make me do that again, Bae." Feeling his curse rousing again, Rumple gently placed his son on the couch and said, "Stay there, dearie, and watch me spin."

He went to his wheel and sat down, pangs of regret stinging him almost as much as Bae's bottom probably did. Then he began to spin, the motions serving to relax and calm him, sending the curse back to sleep as he did so.

Bae curled up on his side and watched his papa spin, trying to ignore his stinging behind. _You deserved that, you know you did, _ his conscience whispered, and he sniffled and wiped his eyes with his hand as the wheel whirred round and round. Pan's oddly catchy tune played in his head, and he thought sadly about Pan's offer. Suddenly it didn't seem all that wonderful now . . . now that he knew his papa needed help. And he was ashamed of himself for acting the way he had. He thought about what Rumple had said about making deals, and thought suddenly maybe there was a way he could prove to his father he could be trusted again.

"Papa," he said cautiously, half-sitting up. "I'm sorry and I want to make a deal with you."

**A/N: Hope you liked my take on Pan here and his true nature, I'm hoping they keep him a true villain in the show and don't try to give him some pathetic backstory because the show needs a straight up BAD guy. Well, one can hope. But the show is what it is and this is my story, so . . .what did you think of Rumple's fight with his cursed nature here? His interaction with Bae? What do you think Bae's deal will consist of? Review, dearies, and thanks!**


	6. Bae's Deal

**6**

**Bae's Deal**

Rumple halted his wheel, and turned to look at Bae. He saw that his son was now contrite and no longer wore that half-defiant look that had so worried and irritated him before. Perhaps something had gotten through to the boy after all, he mused. "What kind of deal, Bae?" he queried, feeling the curse stir in wicked anticipation at the mere _thought_ of making any kind of transaction. "You know I'm not negotiating on your punishment, right?"

Bae just nodded. He knew that, it had always been so. Rumple might not be a terribly harsh father, but once he set consequences, they stayed until they were met. "I know. I wasn't going to make you a deal over that. I just . . . I'm sorry I acted like a rotten brat and I want . . . I want to prove to you that I can be trusted again."

Rumple nodded. "All right. What do you propose?"

"Uh . . . after I've served my punishment . . . how about if I'm allowed an hour of free time, where you're not watching me? I promise I'm not going to do anything bad, Papa. I won't get drunk or . . . or anything like that. I just want an hour to myself . . . away from here."

"To spend with those hooligans?" Rumple sighed.

"They're my friends, Papa. And I won't let them tell me what to do. Especially if I know it's wrong," Bae persuaded. "And I _do_ know, because you taught me it. It's just . . . I lost my head . . . I was stupid. I won't do that again. I just want a second chance, to prove I can be trusted." He gave his father a pleading glance from his dark eyes.

Rumple considered. He could see where the boy was coming from. And the fact was, Bae was growing up . . . and no longer content to just be Rumple's shadow, the way it used to be. And Rumple knew that here Baelfire no longer had the stigma of the coward's son to live down. Now he was the son of the Dark One . . . and Rumple didn't know if that were any better, but there it was. And what Bae said was true . . . he always had trusted his son's judgment before this. "All right. I'll give you a second chance, Baelfire. I'll make a deal with you. You can have one hour of free time at the end of your punishment. One hour where you can do what you like and I won't be looking over your shoulder. And if at the end of that hour, you come home and aren't in any kind of trouble and in one piece . . . you can leave the castle grounds on specific days for a few hours at a time."

"Really, Papa! That's great."

"Hold it. There's a price that comes with all deals, son," Rumple reminded him, and he felt the familiar tingle of the curse working . . . as it spelled out the price required. He frowned. "And the price required . . . is more for me than you."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean for the hour you're by yourself, I cannot see you . . . or the deal shall be broken. So it's a test . . . of your loyalty to me and mine to you. Can you do it, Bae?"

"I can, Papa!" Bae assured him. "I'm not going to get in any trouble, I promise. All I want is to spend some time with the other boys and have fun."

"All right. Then the deal is struck!" Rumple said, and he held out a hand for Bae to shake.

As their hands touched, he felt the curse's magic run through him, sealing the bond.

Then Rumple ruffled his son's hair. "I'm going to spin for another hour or so. Take a nap if you want."

"Okay. Umm . . . before you do, I need to pee," Bae told him frankly, knowing that when Rumple started spinning, he could easily lose track of time, and Bae didn't want to risk that happening while he was stuck on the couch.

Rumple rose and accompanied his son to the bathroom, waiting outside the door as promised.

Bae quickly used the facilities, washed his hands in the bowl on the counter, and then quickly examined his behind in the full length mirror on the wall behind the door. There wasn't even a hint that he'd been soundly paddled a mere ten minutes or whatever before this. And the sting was almost all gone, it didn't even hurt a little to sit down. He pulled up his underclothes and breeches, flushing a bit and thinking how lucky he was that Rumple, cursed or not, had never believed in giving him a spanking with a switch or a belt like most other parents did to their children. He'd have been hurting really bad then . . . and while Rumple's spanking _did_ sting quite a bit, it wasn't the same at all. In fact what stung worse than his father's hand was the humiliation of being treated like a little kid . . . then again, he supposed he had been behaving like a spoiled brat and Rumple had always tailored consequences to fit misbehavior.

Bae came out, and Rumple followed like a shadow, until they returned to the main room and he went back to his wheel and Bae went to lie on the couch and take a nap. When Rumple looked over some five minutes later, he saw Bae had fallen asleep, and the sorcerer smiled wistfully, thinking this was how it should be, and he hoped that these consequences would show his son the error of his ways and things could go back to the way they had been.

The wheel whirred and spun, and he skillfully twisted the fibers of wool and spun a neat even strong thread that could be used for a myriad of things, while his son slept and outside dusk swept across the land.

**Page~*~*~*~*~*~Break**

In the two weeks that followed, Bae did chores around the castle and helped Rumple set up his potions lab and clean out various rooms, and also plant an herb garden that could be used for both medicinal and food purposes. He also made himself a new shirt in a soft smoky blue color with horn buttons and a pair of buff colored breeches. He helped Rumple cook every night, and read or drew before bed each night, which he spent in the large master suite, sleeping on one side of the huge bed with its midnight blue hangings.

Though he had to stay within Rumple's sight at all times, eventually the punishment ceased to chafe as much as it had in the beginning, and Bae found he didn't mind spending so much time with his papa as he'd thought. Rumple was more like his old self, only going down occasionally to the village to purchase supplies and make small deals with them, and Bae accompanied him, watching quietly from the shadows.

He thought about Pan's offer, and the more he did so, the more he thought about going back when Peter summoned him again and refusing it. Funny, when he'd been with Pan and the other boys, Bae had felt in total agreement with them—his papa was too controlling, too set in his ways, and he would never understand where Bae was coming from. And the only solution would be to just leave. But now . . . after two weeks away from Peter and the Lost Boys, the offer had lost its attraction.

Rumple was not always scolding him for everything, in fact his papa was usually quietly doing something while Bae was in the room with him, and they had some very interesting conversations about different herbs and properties they were used for, and Rumple had praised his spinning and weaving, saying he had improved from last year and even said his sketches were very life-like.

They were actually getting along . . . and Bae found he'd missed their quiet camaraderie. Now that he had it back, he found he didn't want to risk losing it. Then too, if he left with Peter, Rumple would be alone . . . and the curse might overtake him. Bae didn't want that to happen. He loved his father, despite the curse that permeated their life and he wished he knew of a way to remove it.

Then he got an idea . . . maybe he could ask Peter how to remove a curse. The other boy seemed well versed in magic, perhaps he knew of a way to do so that wouldn't hurt Rumple. Bae thought the very least he could do was ask Pan, and then he would politely decline his offer and go back to the castle. Once Rumple saw he could be trusted, he would allow Bae more freedom and perhaps he could make new friends . . . ones that his papa didn't disapprove of.

Finally, the punishment was at an end, and while Bae admitted that he had disliked it, he also understood why Rumple had chosen that consequence for his behavior, as he saw that his papa had been concerned over what he had been doing, and not just being a curmudgeon like he'd first thought.

At breakfast that morning, which was eggs and sausage, Rumple said, "You're off your punishment, Bae. So now you can use that hour of free time if you want today. All I ask is that you tell me if you're going to be leaving the grounds, so I know when to expect you back here."

"I will, Papa," Bae said, and after he was done helping to clean up the kitchen, went to put on his new outfit. Since it wasn't that chilly out, he opted to leave his shawl hanging beside the door and reveled in the fact that he was finally allowed to be more than two feet away from Rumple.

He began a new sketch, this time drawing a picture of the woods and the glade where he'd met Peter and the Lost Boys, carefully shading in the way the light fell across the trees and the ground before drawing Peter upon the log, realizing only then that he'd never really seen all of the boy's face, as some of it was always hidden behind his hood. Still, he drew what he could recall from memory, and included himself in the sketch as well as the fire and a few of the other boys as shadowy shapes about it.

He had just finished it and signed his name at the bottom when he heard the familiar skirling notes of Pan's pipes.

Smiling, he set down his pen and got up, running downstairs and calling softly, "Papa! Papa, where are you? I'm going to leave now."

"Bae? I'm in my lab," he heard Rumple call.

The boy made his way to the lab and found his father inside, grinding some herbs in a mortar. "Papa, I'm going to . . . uh . . . go to the glade for an hour to see my friends."

"All right," Rumple muttered, clearly intent upon what he was doing. He checked the small clock upon the shelf and said, "Be back in an hour, Bae. Then we can have lunch, as I should be done brewing this potion."

"What's it for?"

"It's a potion to clear up congestion in lungs . . . it's going to be winter before you know it, and I don't want you getting sick. But if you do . . . or if someone else's child does, they can make a deal with me for it."

"Oh." Bae wrinkled his nose at the astringent smell of whatever Rumple was crushing with his pestle. "Okay, Papa. See you later!"

He scampered out of the front gate of the castle faster than Jack Be Nimble following the jaunty strains of Pan's pipes down the road and through the woods.

**Page~*~*~*~*~*~Break**

_Forty minutes later:_

Rumple had just finished decanting the potion into four glass beakers and labeling and sealing them with his magic when he heard a pounding at the door of the castle.

"Now who on earth could that be?" he muttered, and quickly formed a magical globe out of the air so he could see who had come knocking at the door.

He saw a middle-aged man dressed in fine leather and gray wool, with a blue cloak and good brown boots standing in courtyard, the wind tousling his graying blond hair as he raised his fist to pound on the door again. Rumple recognized him from Hamlin. He was Martin Shipley, a well-off merchant.

Deciding that Shipley was no threat, and feeling the curse stir at his presence, Rumple teleported over to the door and opened it with a flourish. "Yes, dearie? What brings you pounding on my door as if tax collectors were after you?"

Martin brushed his hair out of his eyes and said, his voice rising close to hysteria, "Please, Dark One, I . . . I need to ask you a favor."

"Oh? If you want to make a deal, by all means, step into my parlor," Rumple purred, the curse suddenly exploding through his veins like a draught of brandy. He stepped back to let Shipley come in.

The man looked alarmed, but then followed the Dark One to the table and seated himself at it when Rumple gestured he should do so. "I . . . I came here on behalf of my boy, Rolly—Roland's his full name—because I noticed he was missing today and . . . and I couldn't ignore the rumors any longer."

"Rumors? How old is the lad? Three, four? Older? Is this the first time he's gone missing?" Rumple queried.

"Oh, Rolly's about ten, he's not a baby," Shipley hastened to explain. "I'm just concerned that he's wandered off because of all the rumors going about town lately."

"And what rumors would they be, Martin?"

"Oh, you know . . . the ones about the mysterious piper—the Pied Piper—some call him on account of his cloak of many colors. They say he's been spotted around town again . . . and now more of our boys have gone missing," Shipley said agitatedly.

"Missing? For how long?"

"Uh, Master Umber's apprentice Felix has been missing since yesterday, never showed up for work and the lady what runs the orphanage says his bed never looked slept in, so he's been gone since before first light yesterday and he skived early from work yesterday and hasn't been seen since. There's others too . . .including my Rolly . . ." Shipley named other children, all boys between the ages of ten and fourteen, who had disappeared and how some of the adults had heard the haunting tones of a set of pipes playing after noticing their children were gone.

"We didn't know what to do, we've looked all over and can't find him . . . or where our boys are. We . . . we thought . . . since you're the Dark One . . . you might look for them, since it's obvious magic's been used to spirit them off. We'll pay whatever price you require. Please help us!"

The heartfelt plea tugged at Rumplestiltskin, who knew what it was like to find your child missing and go crazy trying to find them. Still, his curse was urging him to make a deal, so a deal he struck, saying, "All magic comes with a price, Shipley. I'll search for your boy and find him . . .and for a price . . . you shall give me a tenth of all your profits for the next six months."

"Done then!" Shipley said, and shook his hand. "Just find my boy and bring him home, Dark One." He handed Rumple a scarf of pale yellow with blue stripes. "Here, maybe this will help? His mama made that for him before she . . . ah passed away. He always wears it, don't know why he didn't today, but . . ."

Rumple giggled softly, thinking how odd it was to be the one people now came to for aid, instead of always being sneered at and spat upon. It made him feel powerful, and that wasn't something he was used to at all. "Well, be off with you, man. I'll find you when my mission is complete."

Shipley was only too happy to go, and leave Rumple to his finding.

Rumple took the scarf in his hands, feeling the weight and the texture, noting how the scarf had some fibers loose at one end and two rows near the fringes were becoming separated, probably from being tugged off and on so much. Clearly this was a well-worn and loved object . . . perfect for his locator spell.

Rumple concentrated, calling upon his magic. It came with a rush and surged through him like a spring torrent. He focused, and told the magic what he wished, to find the owner of the scarf, wherever he might be.

An instant later, he felt a pull and followed the invisible tugging out of the castle. As he crossed the grass and headed towards the woods, he caught the strains of a pair of silvery pipes.

He halted, for the music was eerily familiar.

Though he knew he hadn't heard such a tune since . . . he had been a boy of almost the same age Bae was now . . . it had been right after his father had gone off, run away like the coward he was from his enlistment and left Rumple alone with a sickly mother and no way of providing income except by spinning . . . and it was then he had met a boy . . . a boy who was energetic and handsome, not spindly and ordinary, who could run and jump and play rough games the way Rumple, hampered by childhood wheezing, could not . . .

_No! Surely I'm imagining things. It's not the same tune . . . and surely not the same boy either . . . he'd be grown as I am now . . ._

Trying to shut out the familiar refrain, Rumple followed the tugging of the locator spell across the lawn and into the trees that bordered the back of the castle.

Soon the spell led him to a large clearing in the center of the woods, where he saw to his shock, many of the village lads dancing and playing around a bonfire. Some were chasing each other and wrestling, others were drinking what he was almost certain was mead. There were at least twenty of them, and over their gleeful shouts and laughter could be heard the sounds of the pipes, played by a lanky boy sitting on a log.

Rumple felt his heart grow cold within him.

For he knew that casual sprawl, those nondescript gray pants and boots, and the colorful cloak that draped the boy from head to foot.

"Peter," he hissed. "Gods . . . it _is_ you!"

Now he recalled all the rumors he'd heard down through the years . . . of a boy who never aged . . . was immortal some said . . . and never grew old . . . or never grew up . . . as the stories would have it. Some said the boy was the spirit of youth, but others claimed he was a demon . . . one that wore human shape and enticed away children at the dark of the moon.

This close to the reveling children, Rumple could feel Pan's aura.

And it was old . . . old and tainted with darkness. He recognized it . . . the way another snarling dog recognizes a potential foe. If this were indeed his old pal, and Rumple strongly suspected it was, for no one played the pipes quite like that, then he was no longer the carefree boy Rumple had known him as when he was young. No . . . this was no boy now that played upon that log . . . but something much more deadly . . . much more dangerous . . . an eater of children's souls . . .

Rumple felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he peered from the trees into the camp, searching for Rolly, whom the scarf now felt and pulled him towards.

The Dark One instinctively shrouded himself in his own protective magic, and the seductive strains of the pipes dwindled away, no longer calling to him as they had so long ago, when he was a friendless outcast of a cowardly father with a sickly mother.

He took two steps forward out of the screening canopy of the trees, his eyes darting about, searching for Rolly.

There! He spotted the boy, at the fringes of the group, eating what looked like bread and cheese and talking to another boy.

Rumple strode through the brush, and called in a low voice, "Roland Shipley, come here!"

Rolly jerked his head up at the sound of his name.

As did the other boy whom he had been talking to.

Rumple's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Bae!" he gasped as he saw his son.

Bae's eyes stared back at him, filled with astonishment and shock. "Papa? You . . . what are you doing here?"

Before Rumple could answer, he heard Peter start laughing. "Well, well. If it isn't the Dark One himself, come to join the party."

Rumple yanked his gaze away and over to the Pied Piper. But it was too late. He could feel a sudden wrenching pain within him as the dark magic seared through him like a branding iron . . . for with that single gaze he had broken his deal with Baelfire . . . and now there would be consequences, for no one broke deals with the Dark One . . . not even unintentionally. Even if the one breaking it was himself.


	7. Stolen Away

**7**

**Stolen Away**

Rumple felt the sudden agony of the broken deal reflected back on him, like a million shards of glass stabbing him in his once lame leg and behind his eyes. He longed to curl up on the ground, but instead he endured the pain stoically, not wanting to admit weakness in front of this most deadly foe. He forced himself to straighten and glare at the boy called Peter Pan. "I'm not here to join your _party_, Pan," he said coldly. "I'm here to take Roland Shipley back to his father."

"Really?" the Piper sneered, tossing off his hood suddenly to reveal a youth with curly gold hair and eyes deep and dark as a bottomless pit. He was handsome, but the prettiness of his features seemed to radiate a kind of cold chill, like an ice sculpture. "Rolly, you want to go back home to dear old dad?"

Rolly turned, and looked at Rumple. "Did . . . did my dad send you to find me?"

"He did, lad. He misses you and wants you home very much," Rumple said sincerely. _As I do my own son,_ he thought fearfully, though he could not look at Bae again, because he didn't want the magic to misinterpret his actions and put him in a worse light.

"What a crock!" Pan laughed. "He'll say anything to get you away from me, won't you . . . Dark One?"

Rumple whirled on the Piper, his mocking tone grating on the sorcerer's nerves. "I may be the Dark One, Pan, but I am better than you . . . even cursed as I am, I bring no harm to children! Now let him go!"

"I'm not holding him here," Pan said loftily. "Rolly, do you want to go back home to your boring old life? Then by all means, abandon me and go." He made a shooing motion with his hand.

"You're not abandoning him, Rolly," Rumple persuaded. "You owe him nothing. Your family loves you and needs you. You belong with them. Pan's only playing with you . . . like he does with everyone."

The boy looked torn . . . but then he said, "Okay, sir. I'll come back."

As he ran over to stand by the Dark One, Pan said, "You'll regret this one day, Shipley. When you're old and gray and can't even walk, you'll wish you'd taken me up on my offer and gotten eternal youth."

Rolly cringed slightly and backed up into Rumple, who put an arm about him.

"Eternal youth always comes with a price, dearie," Rumple sneered. "Why don't you tell him that, huh?"

Pan stood, putting his hands on his hips, in the age old position of challenge and bravado. "Always making deals at someone else's expense, aren't you, Rumple? Just like your _father."_

Rumple went cold. "You leave him out of this. My father was a miserable cheat and a coward."

"Like father like son," Pan crowed.

"I am _nothing_ like him!" Rumple snapped.

Just as at the same time Bae cried, "No!"

Pan turned then and looked at Baelfire, his grin becoming even more pronounced. "No, you say? Take a look at how he's standing here, and say that again, Bae. He didn't just come for Shipley, he came for you too . . . and now he's broken his deal and must pay the price."

"I-I didn't mean to!" Rumple cried angrily.

"The magic cares not for intent, only that its dictates are followed. All magic comes with a price . . . dear Rumple," Pan said gleefully. "And now that your contract is broken . . . I am free to take what I wish, when I wish, and how I wish." Then he played a stirring aria upon his pipes, and all the boys quivered and seemed to become enthralled. "That's right. My Lost Boys . . . of which your son is now mine!" he declared triumphantly.

"No . . ." Rumple whispered in disbelief.

"Yes! See how your father broke his deal, Bae!" cackled Pan. "Didn't he promise to trust you . . . to let you come here alone . . . and now here he is . . . watching you . . ."

Bae looked from Pan to Rumple, confusions written on his face. "How . . . how do you know that?"

Pan threw back his head and laughed. "I know all about your father and his penchant for breaking deals when it suits him. He doesn't trust you. Otherwise he'd not be here."

"Don't listen to him, Bae," Rumple began desperately. "He lies. I never meant to break our deal . . . never!"

"Actions speak louder than words, Dark One! As the magic knows perfectly well," Pan said smugly. "You're here, breaking your deal with him. Clearly you don't trust your own son. But I do . . .and now he's one of us . . . a Lost Boy!" He moved then, as quickly as a viper striking, and grabbed Bae around the waist. "Come, Baelfire! You can trust me . . . _I_ won't break any deals with you."

"Papa . . ." Bae whispered, his eyes suddenly bright and terrified.

"Bae!" Rumple shouted, and then he reached for his power.

But his cursed magic failed him, not responding to his desperate summons.

"Goodbye, Rumplestiltskin!" Pan whooped, and suddenly the air was filled with shadowy shapes, as they swooped and dove, grabbing up the boys and hovering with them in the air. "Don't be afraid!" Pan said, rising into the air himself, his whole being glowing with an sparkling light . . . almost like pixie dust. "The shadows do my bidding, they'll take you off to a place no adult can ever come . . . where you can play all day and never grow up . . . to Neverland!"

"Papa!" Bae called again.

"Quit struggling!" Pan snapped. "He doesn't want you! He's too much of a coward to even fight for you, can't you see that?"

"Bae!" Rumple yelled again, his face half-scrunched as he tried to call forth his power. "I . . . I can't fight him . . . not now . . . but I promise you . . . I will come for you! No matter how long it takes . . . I promise you I'll find you!"

"Empty promises from an empty heart," Pan whispered into Bae's ear. "Once you're on Neverland, my friend, you'll never miss what you've left behind. And after all, who wants a cowardly dark sorcerer for a father?"

Then he soared upwards and into the sky, Baelfire held close, and as he opened a glowing silvery portal in the air, he cried, "Do you remember, Rumple, I told you once you'd regret not coming with me then? I always keep my promises, Dark One! No one crosses Peter Pan and gets away with it! Farewell, Dark One!"

"You bastard!" Rumple howled, shaking his fist in impotent fury at the wicked being. "I'll find you again, Pan! This isn't over! Bae, I'll come for you! Remember that, son! And remember . . . I will always love you!"

But the wind swirled around him as he called out that final sentence, and he wasn't sure if it even reached Bae's ears, as Pan and the shadow army he'd conjured flew through the silvery portal and vanished.

"Sir . . . sir . . ." Rolly stammered. "Can you . . . will you get your son back?"

Rumple turned to look at the boy Pan had left behind, and said softly, "I will. No matter how long it takes or what I have to do to find him. Now, come. Let's get you back to your father."

He clasped Rolly close, then summoned the purple mist and transported away, returning him to his grateful father.

Once that deal was concluded, he returned to his castle, now hollow and empty without Baelfire's presence in it . . . and he smashed the courtyard fountain and the entire stone wall in frustrated rage and fear . . . over and over until he was spent, and sank to his knees amid the wreckage of stone, his head bowed.

"Bae. Oh Bae!"

_Lost. Lost. A Lost Boy forever._

Pan's words mocked him, full of honeyed poison, they swirled in his head.

Giving into his agony at last, Rumplestiltskin huddled among the broken pieces of the fountain, pressing his knees to his chest, and sobbing wretchedly . . .like a lost boy himself, abandoned and without hope, his heart shattered and torn_._

**_A/N: _After last night's disappointing reveal, which I did not like at all, I had to write the next part of this. Please note . . . this will NOT be anything like what the show has, as I prefer my own version of Pan and Rumple. Thanks for all your support and please review!**


	8. Learn to Be Lonely

**8**

**Learn to Be Lonely**

In the days immediately following Bae's kidnapping, for that was what Rumple regarded it as, the Dark One sank into a morass of despair. Without his son there to keep him company, or fill his long days and nights with companionship, Rumplestiltskin found himself intolerably lonely. A dozen times a day he would start to call Baelfire's name, only to recall the boy was no longer there, and in that knowing become utterly depressed and full of anger. Some of the anger was directed at himself, for unwittingly breaking his own deal, but most of it was directed at the fiend who called himself Peter Pan.

And with his anger came the swift urging of the dark magic to strike deals and garner payment for those who made them . . . and those who broke them.

Rumple allowed the dark magic to control him almost exclusively then, not really bothering trying to fight the urging, since he was so bitterly disillusioned and miserable with the loss of his son. A week passed, then half of another, before he woke one day and stared about his room, realizing the place was a wreck, with clothes strewn all over, dust gathering in the corners, and his bed looking like an animal had slept in it.

He wrinkled his nose slightly at the faint stench coming from the unwashed laundry and . . . himself. His hair was lank and oily, and he grimaced as he realized he hadn't bothered to wash or shave since Bae's disappearance. He couldn't recall the last time he'd eaten either, since as an immortal he really didn't need substance, he ate because it was familiar and he still enjoyed the taste of a good meal.

_Rumplestiltskin, you're a disgrace!_ He scolded himself mentally after making himself get out of bed. _This place is like a pigsty and you probably smell as bad as one of the pigs. Snap out of it! How will you find Bae lolling around like this, wallowing in self-pity?_

After giving himself a stinging inner tongue-lashing, the sorcerer managed to clean himself up, and clean up the castle as well, using his magic for something other than destruction, making the floors, furniture, and so forth shine and glisten from top to bottom, airing out the rooms and getting rid of the dank, damp, musty smell, which reminded him of a tomb.

Once the castle had been set to rights, he then went down to the village to see what the news was and to buy some more provisions, as there was not a crumb left in his larder. He received the usual fear-filled stares and the sign to avert evil behind his back, but he ignored those townsfolk who shrank from him, speaking with the few he chose to purchase food from only as necessary, and giving them gold in exchange for their foodstuffs.

One thing he'd learned early on—the people might make the evil eye in front of him, but one and all would take his gold, or jewels, or whatever he happened to pay in, without a qualm.

After he had gotten some food and transported it with magic back to the castle, he listened to the rumors of the Pied Piper, whom some still said was still haunting the area, and others who claimed the thief who stole their children was gone forever. Several families were despondent, since their sons were missing, and Rumple vowed to try and get them back as well as Bae . . . somehow. For no one should lose a child like that, especially not to that monster wearing human shape.

_How ironic,_ he thought, hiding a mocking grin as he went back to the castle, _that some name me a Beast, but I am like a stuffed bear compared to Pan. Ah well, you need a monster to catch a monster. _

Once he had eaten something, he went and found some of his texts on demonology and portals, he had made deals with traveling peddlers for quite a few of them, and began to read them over again. As the Dark One he had nothing but time and no real need to sleep either, so he spent all night and the next few days poring over them, searching for a clue how to defeat Pan, whom he knew was most likely a demon or demigod of the Underworld. He also searched for a way to get to Neverland, using a portal.

But all of his texts had nothing in them on how to create a portal, except with a magic bean, or a person whose innate Talent was portal jumping. Rumple, though heir to fantastic magic as the Dark One, could not make a portal to Neverland . . . though he tried repeatedly, the way was always blocked.

He feared it was because he had broken his deal, and the dark magic sensed it . . . as it had earlier and refused to work, thus allowing Bae to be taken by Pan. He hoped that Bae was all right . . . or as all right as he could be as a member of Pan's Lost Boys. He prayed that Pan was still in that semi-playful mood he'd been when he'd confronted Rumple at the bonfire. Because then Bae would be safe . . . for a while longer.

Then he spent long days searching for the giants' stronghold, for they were the one people in the realms who harvested and grew the magic beans. Finally he discovered a beanstalk in a remote mountain stronghold, and travelled up it, only to find that the giants refused to part with any beans . . . for any price. In his helpless desperation and curse-born rage, he would have slaughtered those he encountered, but his own magic warned him against indulging in such a petty tantrum . . . because a bean stolen from them by force would not work, it had to be given freely. And the giants refused to trade with humans . . . or dark sorcerers, claiming that the beans' magic was not for the likes of them.

So Rumple left, disheartened and despairing once more, to return to his lonely keep . . . and count the empty hours. He tried without success to invent a spell that would lead him to Bae, using the boy's shawl, which he found hanging on a hook in his room, and the picture he had drawn of himself and Rumple, which Rumple had kept in his pocket, a tangible reminder of his loss.

Finally, after the fiftieth failed attempt to create a portal to transport himself there, he walked outside and reduced the fountain and half the wall to chips of stone dust, finding it immeasurably satisfying to totally annihilate something. Especially when doing so was not harmful to anything or anyone.

Panting slightly, his reptilian eyes glowing gold from the heat of his temper, Rumple leaned on the pillared entryway of the castle and gazed out at the courtyard. With a quick wave he restored his fountain and the section of the wall he'd destroyed, feeling the curse start to go back to sleep. He had learned during this fallow time that the curse would rest if he "fed" it with a few deals and used its destructive force to wreck something. Then it was sated for a time and he could keep on searching for a way to get to Neverland.

Not a day went by when he didn't wake up and miss his son, he missed seeing the boy's face in the morning, the way the sun hit his dark hair, turning it auburn, and the way his hair fell over one side of his face. He even missed the times when Baelfire was sullen and grouchy, and answered him in monosyllables. At least he had answered. And Rumple would have taken a sullen Bae over no Bae at all any day of the week now.

Sometimes he would take to studying the sketch Bae had drawn of the two of them, and lamenting that he hadn't spent more time with the boy, or been more understanding. There were times he fell into a black mood, and despaired of ever finding him, or finding him too late. There were times, like now, when he blamed himself for Bae's running off and meeting Pan and his friends.

_I should have watched more closely. I shouldn't have been so quick to forbid him to see them. I should have known that would only make him more rebellious. Damn Pan and damn this blasted dagger curse as well! All I ever wanted was to protect my son, and now he's been stolen away from me!_

It was while he was in one of these moods, the loneliness eating away at him like acid from within, that an unexpected visitor came to the Dark Castle.

She came upon the wings of magic, or rather, her wings were an expression of her magic, and she tumbled down from the sky and crashed right into the fountain he'd just repaired, landing in the water with a splash, soaking the courtyard and himself.

"Whoops! Umm . . . sorry!"

Rumple wiped water from his eyes, wondering what on earth had just landed in his fountain. When he could see again, he saw a slender young woman, no not a woman, a fairy, with short blonde hair the color of goldenrods, wearing a skin tight tunic the color of spring leaves—actually he thought it might be _made of leaves_, and tiny sparkly green slippers. Her skin was a faint rosy gold color, probably from using so much pixie dust, and her eyes were huge in her slender pointed face, and the same color as her tunic. She also had the characteristic pointed ears of her kind. Her wings were the iridescent jewel tones of a butterfly, and they dripped water all over as she emerged sheepishly from the fountain.

"Um, hi! I'm Tinkerbell," she said, giving him a lopsided smile.

"Dearie, how did you come to land in my fountain? Did a storm blow you off course or something?" he queried.

She shook her head, the chiming of little bells accompanying the movement. "A storm? No, no I . . . I meant to come here."

He raised an eyebrow. "You . . . meant to come here? To my castle? But . . . you're a fairy! Why would you come to my home? Do you know who I am?"

"Uh huh! You're . . . err . . . the Dark One. But once you were a man named Rumplestiltskin, a great spinner and weaver." She gazed at him shrewdly. "And . . . I believe you're . . . well a part of you is . . . that man still."

"Really, dearie? How do you figure that?"

"Well . . . because rumor has it you're looking for your son that was kidnapped . . . and nobody who's truly evil does that. I mean, most evil sorcerers only care about themselve_s, _not family members. They love power and gold and er . . . you know, stuff like that. But if you're looking for your son, that means you care about him . . . so you're not as evil as people think."

"So? What of it?" he demanded.

"Well, that's why I'm here. It's why the pixie dust led me here," she explained, shaking water out of one pointed ear.

"The pixie dust . . . _led_ you here?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yes! I tossed some into the air and asked it to take me to someone who really needed me, who really needed my help . . . and it brought me here. To you, Rumplestiltskin! Goodness, what a mouthful! What _was_ your mother thinking? Do you mind if I call you Stilty? No, that sounds like a marionette. How about Rum? Or, err . . ."

"Rumple is fine," he said, managing after a few moments to get a word in edgewise. "Now, Tinkerbell . . . is that your real name? I always thought fairies chose names of colors or something pertaining to nature."

"Well, we are assigned a color when we're first born, and most of us do choose names like Silva or Dawn Mist or something like that, but . . . I think those names are boring. And since I like to . . . tinker with things, see how they work, and bells always seem to ring around me, I call myself Tinkerbell. Nice, huh? Well, maybe you don't think so, seeing as you're the Dark One . . . but I really feel like I can help you with your problem."

"You do? But . . . why would you want to? You're a fairy!"

"I know! And fairies are supposed to help people."

"I'm not a person. I'm . . . the Dark One."

"Yes, I know. But you were a person, and like I said, I think a part of you still is. So I'll just pretend you still are a person . . . and then I can help you!" she said eagerly.

He stared at her, this overeager talkative young fairy, and felt his head slowly spin around. "You'd help me?"

"Yes! Didn't I just say that? Is something wrong with your ears? Maybe you've water in them? Or wax? You know if you take a soft end of a cattail root and put it in your ear and twirl it around-"

"My hearing is fine! I meant, why would you care about me or my son?" Rumple demaded exasperatedly.

"Because . . . no one should hurt the way you do," she said sincerely. "And if I can help you, I shall."

Rumple found himself profoundly touched by her compassion. "Thank you, Miss Bell."

"Just call me Tink! And I'll call you Rumple! See, now we're on a first name basis, like friends!" she grinned happily.

Rumple thought he might be hallucinating. Who had ever heard of a fairy becoming friends with a dark sorcerer?

"Umm . . . I think your superior might not like the fact you're here," he began.

"Oh, she won't care," Tink said breezily. "She told me to go out on assignment this morning. And now here I am!"

Rumple was certain that when this fairy's superior had told her to go on an assignment, it was to help some child find a lost puppy or something, not help the Dark One find his son. But he had to admit, the bouncy creature made him smile, and he hadn't done that since Bae had left. "All right . . . Tink. Come inside."

She shook her head, and tinkling bells rang and chimed, and then her wings, muttering, "Oh, spit and ashes! I'm all wet . . . I don't want to muck up your floors . . .although . . . is your castle really dreary and gloomy? Because I haven't ever seen a place like that and it would be neat . . ."

Rumple sighed and snapped his fingers, drying her off. "There, dearie!" He opened the door to his castle. "After you."

Tink skipped inside, saying as she entered, "Ooh! This is some _nice_ placeyou've got here, Rumple! Although . . . you could use some flowers . . . maybe a potted geranium here and there . . . how about a fern over there in the corner . . . and some rose petals along the carpet? You know, they smell so wonderful when you walk on them . . . so refreshing . . .Not that your castle isn't perfectly nice as is, but . . . you need some more color . .. How about an African violet on the mantle?"

Rumple began to wonder if her supervisor might have sent her out deliberately . . . to get her jackdaw chatter out of her hair . . . and he cleared his throat and said, "Tink, I thought you were here to help me find my missing son, not redecorate my castle."

"Oh, right! Sorry, I sort of got distracted," she said, then went and perched upon the sofa. "You know . . . I'm kinda hungry. . ."

"I can put some tea on. And I think I have some small iced vanilla cakes and oatmeal cookies in the pantry," the Dark One sighed.

"Tea! And cookies!" she cried. "Oh and do you have rose petal tea, because I love that—"

"I have chamomile. It's made from flowers. And you can put honey in it."

"Mmm! I love honey! I had a good friend who was a bumblebee once," Tink chattered.

"Lovely, dearie," Rumple said politely, rolling his eyes while he put the kettle on and got out some mugs.

Either this was a very idealistic young fairy or he was having one hell of a dream . . . and he hadn't imbibed anything, like a magic mushroom! But at least he was no longer lonely.

**A/N: Hope you like my Tinkerbell . . . and how she's willing to help Rumple. Next chapter will show what Bae's been up to in Neverland.**


	9. Lost In Neverland

**9**

**Lost In Neverland**

Bae knew he was in trouble the moment he was captured by Pan and dragged through the portal to Neverland. At first he couldn't believe that his papa had allowed Pan to take him away. His papa was the Dark One. The most powerful sorcerer in the entire Enchanted Forest, maybe even all the realms. And he had just watched while Pan took Baelfire away. No, not quite, he recalled as Pan swooped down towards a glittering green and gold island amid tropical blue waters. His papa had said something before Bae was dragged into the portal. Something that had sounded like, "I will always find you . . ." and maybe even "I love you."

But Bae couldn't be certain, for the wind had washed away Rumple's words.

And he didn't know why Rumple hadn't blasted Pan with his magic.

Until he recalled something else Pan had said to his papa. Rumple had broken his own deal by seeing Bae at the encampment before an hour had passed. And the dark magic punished those who broke deals. He'd had that bit of information from Rumple's own lips. _"If I don't do what the dark magic wants, it punishes me." _

Could that be what had happened? Could the dark magic have punished Rumple by letting Pan take Bae? All magic comes with a price . . . and a price must be paid.

Confused and frightened, Baelfire remained limp in Peter's grasp until the taller and older boy touched down on Neverland's shore. Around him were shimmering sandy beaches and further ahead was a lush thick jungle. Bae's boots dug into the sand and he swayed a little on his feet.

The dark shadows were putting the other boys down on the sand now, and they were all looking about them curiously.

Peter came and stood in the middle of them, reminding Bae of nothing so much as a bantam rooster crowing in the barnyard. "Welcome, boys, to Neverland! Here we'll stay, and remain forever young, and never have to go back to the dreary world or adults telling us what to do ever again. Here . . . _we_ are kings!"

The others cheered at that bold statement.

"We are the Lost Boys, and we're all here to have fun and play games," Pan continued, playing a soft trill on his pipes. "So come along and I'll show you the island, tell you what you need to avoid, and we'll have a feast too. Let's go!"

The boys, including Bae, all trooped after their leader, following him into the jungle.

Most of them seemed perfectly content to walk at Pan's heels like an obedient pack of hounds.

As they pushed through the thick jungle, Bae had one burning question in his mind. How the hell were they going to live here on this island? It wasn't a question he wanted to answer, it was one that he had to answer . . . and one that he wished he never had to either. But he was stuck in Neverland, unless someone came to rescue him, and while he longed with all of his heart to go back home to Rumple, he knew that for right now, he'd better start worrying about where he was going to sleep, because the ground was crawling with spiders and other bugs.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

_Three weeks later:_

Bae washed his face in the basin he'd made from half of a coconut, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and finger combing his wildly curly hair as best he could. He knew he probably looked like a refugee, with his hair all tangled like a rat's nest, but he could barely keep himself tidy without a comb, brush, or a decent washcloth. He'd torn off a square from his shirt to use to wipe his face, and counted himself lucky he'd just worn his new outfit, since it wasn't falling to pieces like some of the other boys' garments.

Pan had shown the boys how to harvest the deadly dreamshade and dip their homemade spears and arrows in it, to bring down game, and they hunted in groups of three or four every day to bring back enough to feed everyone. But he had been less concerned with building shelters and so forth, so that task, like so many other practical ones, had fallen to Bae.

Bae had organized some of the boys who'd been apprentices to thatchers and masons to help build a home of sorts in the trees, using fallen logs and occasionally Pan assisted with his magic, so they had a roof over their heads when it stormed. It had taken them two weeks to build their tree homes, thanks to the fact that half the boy stopped work after a few hours to play with their "brothers".

Bae also had some of the boys find large logs and had Peter hollow them out with his magic, so they could catch water in them for drinking and cooking. When he found that half the boys were peeing and crapping too close to their tree home, Bae told Pan they needed to dig a latrine trench or build an outhouse.

Pan laughed and said the boys who lost his little games could do that, as a punishment.

So that was what happened . . . and for the first two weeks they were kept busy trying to build a new life on Neverland, and adapt to their new home and their fearless leader.

Pan had named Felix his number one lieutenant and Felix picked others as his officers.

Bae, because of his skill at organization and his ability to get the others to work together, was the Officer of the Hearth, and in charge of doing all the boring chores no one else wanted, like making sure the rain barrels were full or mending the boys' torn clothing. He used fibers from huge leaves, spinning them on a makeshift drop spindle, to make a rather strong thread which he used to patch up the holes the others ripped in their clothes.

He supposed eventually he'd have to figure out a way to weave cloth or tan hides, because the clothes they had wouldn't last forever, especially not with the way the boys took care of them. The other boys cared only for playing, hunting, eating and sleeping. Not a one of them thought about much else, unless they were forced to, Bae thought with a sigh. When their bellies were grumbling they expected food, when they were thirsty, they expected water, or some fermented coconut milk, which a brewer's lad named Tully had figured out how to make.

_It's paradise, all right. For the lazy, shiftless, selfish ones, _Bae thought with a sneer. _For anyone with half a brain in their head and any sense of foresight, it's ridiculous. _ But when he'd complained to Peter about the amount of work some of them, namely himself, was doing while others just lolled around all day and played stupid games, Pan had laughed and said then maybe Bae should just quit working and join the others.

Bae just shook his head. If he did that, nobody would have clothes after a fortnight, or fresh water, or anything that they needed. And they couldn't just magic it out of the air either. Felix and most of the other Lost Boys worshipped Pan like he was some kind of god, but Bae sometimes felt that the older boy was more of a child than he was, and he was only thirteen, since his birthday had come and gone last week sometime. Bae had barely realized it, he was so tired from doing most of the work around the Lost Boys' camp. He only thought about it when he was half-asleep on his makeshift hammock, realizing that if he'd been home right then, Rumple would have made him his favorite supper and even a small vanilla cake with cinnamon caramel sauce and gotten him a small gift to celebrate.

Thinking about Rumple right then, however, had almost caused him to start bawling like a three-year-old. He missed his father with a bitter throbbing ache deep in his chest, finally acknowledging that cursed as he'd been, Rumple was ten times better to live with than Pan and all the Lost Boys. But there was nothing Bae could do about it, so he simply tried to make the best of his situation.

Until Pan had started bringing in new boys from somewhere else. And unlike the first group, some of these boys were not there willingly, they'd been kidnapped from their homes and still missed their families.

Bae straightened, taking the knife he'd made out of a stout stick, some vines, and a piece of sharp obsidian he'd found one day while harvesting some tubers for dinner. It was a crude weapon, but even the worst weapon became deadly when dipped in dreamshade. He tucked the knife in his belt and prepared to climb down the ladder to the ground.

As he jumped the last few feet to the ground, he heard a voice taunting, "Poor Griffie! He misses his mama, the big baby!"

Bae walked three steps into the clearing where the big fire pit was, with a large black cauldron simmering over the fire. Inside of it was porridge, not one of Bae's better meals,but it was edible, made from a strange type of grain that grew along the west side of the island and flavored with a little coconut milk, some nuts and seeds and some berries. He wished he had honey, but Neverland seemed lacking in bees. As he went to stir the pot with a large wooden stirrer, he saw Mick, one of the meaner boys, tormenting poor Griffin again.

Griffin was crying quietly, hiding his face behind his knobby knees. He was the youngest of the Lost Boys, a mere seven to the others' eleven, twelve, thirteen, and fourteen. He was new to Neverland, having been grabbed by the Shadow and taken here with a bunch of other boys. He had a shock of light brown hair and huge brown eyes that reminded Bae of a lost puppy, all scared and wary. He was dressed in slightly better clothing than the rest of them, a fine tunic of softest cotton and leather breeches. His boots were good leather too, and Bae suspected he was a noble at the very least, though he refused to tell anyone, even Pan, where he'd come from.

He was not boisterous or outgoing either, but quiet and shy, and he seemed devastated by the loss of his family, to the point of not caring if the other boys heard him crying, which he seemed to do quite often.

"Hey! Leave him alone, Mick!" Bae ordered angrily. He never could abide bullies picking on little kids, and this time was no exception.

Mick looked up at him, a large rawboned kid with reddish hair, buck teeth, and watery blue eyes, dressed in the plain tunic and breeches of an ordinary citizen of Hamlin. "What for, Baelfire? He's naught but a whimpering crybaby coward who needs a good thrashing for making my ears hurt with his caterwauling!"

Bae dropped the stirrer and stalked forward, his fist clenched warningly. "I said, leave him alone, before I thrash you, you rotten oaf!"

For an instant, he thought he might have to fight the other boy, but Mick backed down after seeing Bae was serious, and spat, "Fine! You take care of the little louse! Crybaby!" he sneered at Griffin. "Bet you need Baelfire there to wipe your ass, you sniveling little prick!" Then he ran off, whooping and hollering, to join the rest of the Lost Boys playing army games.

Bae glared after the other boy, before going to kneel beside Griffin. "Hey, kid. You okay? What'd he do?"

It was a moment before Griffin stopped weeping and looked up warily at Bae. "M' sorry!" he sniveled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I just . . . Mick, he . . . he broke my talisman." He opened his hand to reveal a small fox carved from white pine, which had its head broken off its body. It had been strung on a woven leather cord. "See?"

Bae sighed when he saw the ruined figurine. "Your talisman?"

"Uh huh. My mama gave it to me when I was born. She said it'd protect me against evil, but . . . but I think its magic's dying, 'cause the Shadow Monster came and took me away. And now my mama's probably dead."

"How come?"

"Because she was sick and gonna die unless she got some medicine soon and I was gonna go fetch someone who could help but the Shadow took me before I could," Griffin sniffled.

"That's too bad. My mama ran away when I was four and left me, but at least I still had my papa," Bae said, resting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "Where's your papa?"

"He died in the Ogre Wars. I never knew him, except sometimes Mama would tell me stories about him before bed. His name was Beowulf." Griffin said.

"That's too bad. Uh, were you . . . were you . . . landed once? A lord?" Bae queried softly.

"Once. My mama, Gunnhilda, was a fine lady. But after my papa died, this other lord, Vigo, wanted her to marry him, and when she said no . . . he brought his guard and seized our land and our keep and threw us out. Mama and I fled to Vallois, one of her smallholdings, and we lived in the little house there . . . she took in sewing and fine embroidery and she taught me how to read and figure and play the guitar . . . till she got sick and now she's gone."

Seeing the child start to tear up again, Bae said kindly, "You don't know that, Griffin. She could still be alive."

"No. The . . . the herb witch what came to see her said she'd only live a week more at the most . . . unless she got a magical potion that would cure her. That's what I was going to do before the Shadow took me. I was going to find the Dark One and ask him to heal my mama," Griffin said softly.

Bae gaped at him. "You . . . were going to make a deal with the Dark One?"

Griffin nodded. "I know people say he's evil, but he's also the only powerful sorcerer I know, and I don't care what he asks for his help, so long as my mama gets well. But . . . it's too late now. And Mick went and broke my talisman too." The brown eyes filled with tears again. "It's no fair, Baelfire!"

Filled with a sudden compassion for the lost and grieving child, Bae found himself hugging the poor boy and whispering, "Shhh, don't cry. It'll all work out in the end. You'll see."

"How?" Griffin asked, burying his face in Bae's shoulder.

"Maybe the Dark One will come here and rescue us from Pan," Bae whispered.

"You think so?" Griffin looked hopeful.

"You want to know a secret?" Bae asked.

"Okay. I'll never tell! Cross my heart an' hope to die, stick a needle in my eye," Griffin pledged.

"My papa's the Dark One, and Peter stole me away too. But my papa promised he'd come for me and I believe he will," Bae told the distraught child.

Griffin's eyes grew wide. "The Shadow took you away too?"

"No. Pan did that himself," Bae said. "So you see, I don't want to be here anymore than you do. I want to go home, like you. Only right now . . . I can't. And there's no sense in crying over spilt milk. Know what I mean?"

Griffin nodded. "I'll try not be a crybaby anymore, Baelfire. It's just . . . sometimes I miss my mama awful bad."

"I know. I miss my papa too," Bae admitted quietly. "And it's okay to be sad . . . just don't let the other boys see you crying. And call me Bae."

Griffin gave him a tentative smile, which lit his whole face like a ray of sunshine. "I'll try . . . Bae. I'm not a coward."

"I know. You just miss your mama," Bae said. Then he recalled something, and pulled a little cornhusk doll dressed in a blue shirt out of his pocket. "Here. This is a cornhusk boy my papa made for me. It keeps away bad dreams." He pressed it into Griffin's hand. "You keep it. Maybe it'll help."

Griffin stared down at the doll, no bigger than his palm. "You're giving it . . . to me? But if your papa made it . . . you should keep it. To remember him by."

Bae closed the boy's hand over the little doll. "You need it more than I do. I can remember my papa just fine here." He tapped his head. "Keep it."

"Thanks!" Griffin lovingly tucked the little cornhusk boy in his tunic pocket. Then his tummy started growling. "I'm hungry, Bae."

"Me too. Let's eat some breakfast," Bae said, and brought Griffin over to the pot of porridge, dishing some out into the coconut halves that served as bowls, and picking up the crude wooden spoons one of the boys had made, as he was an apprentice carpenter, named Joseph.

The two boys ate companionably, then Bae took Griffin down to the stream that ran through the jungle and washed the dishes.

Griffin tried to help, but was clumsy and fell right into the stream.

Bae laughed and said, "Well, you needed a bath anyhow, kid."

Griffin stuck his tongue out at him and splashed him.

Grinning Bae splashed him back.

Within seconds, they were both soaked and giggling.

They walked back to the clearing, letting their clothes dry on them in the steamy heat, and Bae thought maybe this was what it was like to have a little brother, finding he didn't mind the youngster tagging after him.

**Page~*~*~*~*~Break**

Meanwhile, back at the Dark Castle, Tink and Rumple were discussing Peter Pan and Neverland and how one might get to there.

"He used a portal to go there," Rumple recalled. "And also these shadows came and did his bidding."

Tink shivered. "A shadowmancer. Only the most evil beings can command a shadow soul, Rumple. Like demons."

"I know. I don't think I could do it," he admitted.

"You're no demon," the young fairy said. "Have you tried a magic bean?"

"There are none left in the realms here, and the giants refuse to trade for one," Rumple sighed.

"I think my superior, Rheul Gorm has one, but she'll never give it up, especially not to the Dark One. Sorry, Rumple," Tink said apologetically.

"I figured as much. The Blue Fairy would never help one such as I . . . a monster."

"You're not a monster!" Tink objected. "Would a monster care that his son is missing? Or give me tea and cookies? No. A monster would pull off my wings and eat me. You're cursed, Rumple. There's a difference."

"I don't see much difference," he said sadly.

"That's because you don't know how to see yet. But I do. And all curses can be broken," Tink declared. "That's a truth as old as time."

Rumple opened his mouth to disagree, then closed it again. Tinkerbell had given him something no one had in months . . . hope. "Perhaps, dearie. Now, how else can we get to Neverland."

"Hmm . . . I'm not sure, but . . . when I was flying over to your castle, I passed through the neighboring kingdom of Avonlea. And I heard something interesting. There's going to be a lecture held in the library amphitheater in the town of Knossos three days from now. And this lecture is given by someone who is very knowledgeable about other realms and magical objects."

"Oh? And who would that be?"

"Her name's Belle, she's the daughter of a knight, and she's been studying such things for years now. They say she's brilliant. Beautiful too, but this will be her last lecture."

"Why?"

"Because she's engaged to be married, or so I've heard," Tink replied.

"Sounds interesting, dearie. Maybe I'll attend it. It can't hurt and it's better than moping about the castle worrying," Rumple said.

"That's a great idea, Rumple!" Tink gushed. "Got any more cookies?"

Rumple summoned some more from the pantry and while Tink munched on them, pondered the chances of this mystery woman actually having the knowledge he sought. The longer Bae was in Neverland, the worse Rumple felt, and he knew he had to get his son back before Pan decided to do something to harm him. _I'm coming, Bae. Just be patient and I'll find you. By all I hold dear, I will find you. And then I'll find a way to destroy Peter Pan. Because nobody hurts my son!_

**A/N: Hope you're all enjoying this, dearies! Thanks for all the awesome reviews and please review again and let me know what you think!**


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